


We Became Your Real Family

by theoncomingwolf



Series: Carol Lives on Earth with M&M AND is a Space Superhero [3]
Category: Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Compliant, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mostly a happy soft time, exists in the universe I always write in where carol's a space superhero but lives at home w M&M, from Carol's backstory around her dad in the recent comics; skipping the Kree stuff w her mom tho, long fic abt the danbeau restarting their life together :)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 71,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19072861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoncomingwolf/pseuds/theoncomingwolf
Summary: Now that Carol’s been back with Maria and Monica for over a month, Maria gently suggests that they tell her parents she’s alive.Not Carol’s parents, Maria’s.She has been easing Carol into the life she can’t remember, but Monica had dropped on day 1 that her real family is the Rambeaus.(Can be read standalone from series; canon-compliant long domesticity)





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Just my take on Carol reintegrating herself into Maria and Monica's lives- which means she has to tell Maria's family she's alive.
> 
> Story summary: Carol explores what family means to her
> 
> The first chapter is just Maria's lovely parents, but references Carol's childhood a bit, hence the "implied/referenced child abuse" tag. Going off at least the most recent comics' relationship with Carol's father, although I don't think her backstory has ever had them amicable. This fic will respectfully reference such themes in later chapters, as Carol regains some memories and explorers what family means to her. I will put appropriate summaries/warnings at the beginning of each chapter.

Now that Carol’s been back with Maria and Monica for over a month, Maria gently suggests that they tell her parents she’s alive.

 

Not Carol’s parents, Maria’s.

 

She has been easing Carol into the life she can’t remember, but Monica had dropped on day 1 that her _real_ family is the Rambeaus. She’s starting to think that she meant more than just Maria and Monica when Maria insists that they deserve to know she’s back, and that they’d be really happy to see her.

 

Monica’s been so excited to have Carol home that she’s honestly surprised that the 11 year old they’ve trusted with this secret has been able to keep it so long.

 

“Oh please, Auntie Carol,” Monica asks, climbing onto Carol’s lap, “I really want to tell them too.”

 

“Sure,” Carol says, staring at Maria with that particular blank look she gets when she’s out of her depth; if it’s important to them, she has no qualms.

 

It hurts Maria to see, but she suspects Carol would be more nervous about the idea if she remembered them, anyway.

 

Carol’s known Maria since she moved to Louisiana in her junior year of high school, and has been fond of her parents almost as long. The Rambeau house was a safe place for Carol to be when things were bad at home, which seemed to be all the time after her brother died. Maria’s always respected her parents for their kindness to Carol, and she knows her Carol was grateful as well.

 

 _This_ Carol can’t understand how _hers_ had felt about Maria’s family, not without the context of her life, but her parents still love Carol, and they deserve to know she’s alive.

 

“We just have to figure out what to tell them,” Maria sighs.

 

Maybe she can handwave the whole thing as confidential Air Force stuff that they were all lied to about, but that still doesn’t explain why Carol has been missing for six years. The truth that she was captured is a little too alarming, particularly since Carol didn’t _feel_ captured; no need to worry them unnecessarily.

 

“How about... I got kidnapped by aliens?’

 

“Wh-” Maria shakes her head adamantly, “Absolutely not.”

 

“Come on Mom, you want her to _lie?”_ Monica asks.

  
“ _Yes._ ”

 

“They’ll believe me,” Carol tells her, holding a glowing fist far away from Monica, “I can prove it.”

 

“No.”

 

She’d had enough worry convincing them to treat Carol like they did before their relationship evolved into a romantic one- which, to their credit, they did quite well after a short rocky period- she doesn’t want to risk her luck. Gay is one thing, dangerous is another.

 

“What about a coma?” Maria says.

 

“A coma.” Carol lifts her eyebrows, eyes peeking out over the top of Monica’s hair, “I kept this muscled physique after 6 years of being unconscious?”

 

“I don’t know... you woke up a year ago. Two years ago. You had amnesia.”

 

“You do have amnesia,” Monica supplies, helpfully.

 

“Well yeah, we’ll have to mention _that_ anyway,” Carol says, shifting Monica to one leg, so she can look at Maria with her whole face, “a coma is _so_ uncool, though.”

 

“...Uncool?” Maria asks, “What are you on about?”

 

“I was just _unconscious_ for 5 years?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Carol sighs.

 

“We get to tell grandma and grandpa?” Monica confirms.

 

“Yeah, I guess,” Carol says.

 

Monica gives her a kiss on the cheek, wrapping her arms around Carol’s neck.

 

The beaming smile on Carol’s face is in such sharp contrast to the blank look from before that Maria’s heart melts.

 

\--

 

Phase I of dropping crazy news on her parents is to do it _without_ Carol- she doesn’t want to give either of them a heart attack.

 

It reminds her a fair amount of coming out to the two of them, actually, though Maria tries to tell herself _this_ is definitively good news, and she should calm down a little.

 

“What’s going on?” Maria’s mother greets, throwing her arms around Maria as soon as the door opens.

 

“It’s okay, Mama; I told you the news wasn’t bad, didn’t I?”

 

“You’re in a relationship.”

 

“Uh,” Maria blinks, “Let’s talk inside.”

 

“Oh Henry, she’s seeing someone,” her mother says, “man or woman?”

 

“I-” Maria supposes it’s not untrue, “Woman?”

 

Her mother’s mouth scrunches up in a way Maria tries not to analyze; she’d supported her dating a woman before, she can do it again. Especially since it’s the same woman.

 

“Yes, sorry, just thought I’d give you options,” her mom says, brushing off the comment she probably thinks annoyed Maria.

 

Maria thinks it’s fine, actually. She’d told them she was a lesbian to get them off her back about Carol, but if Carol had never come back Maria doesn’t think she’d really count men out as an option.

 

“Uh, let’s have a seat. That’s not... exactly what I came over here to talk about.”

 

Her parents share a look. Her father looks calm, which Maria thinks is for her own benefit, to help her relax a little.

 

She takes a deep breath, does not relax.

 

“Carol’s alive.”

 

“...Carol, sweetheart?”

 

“...Danvers?” her father asks.

 

“Yes,” Maria says, adding before they can assume Carol ditched them, “she has amnesia.”

That does it. Her mother doesn’t respond, looking stunned. It seems unreal to Maria too; amnesia is like a crazy thing that happens in movies.

 

If only they knew how crazy the whole thing _really_ was.

 

“Amnesia,” her father says, at last.

 

“Yes,” Maria says, preparing to cobble together the less truthful parts of her story, “she got... the crash nearly killed her, and she was in a coma for a bit. I didn’t know, I thought she was dead.”

  
Maria tries not to cringe. Carol was right, this was dumb as hell.

 

“She uh,” Maria takes a breath; she’s trying to lie to the people who have always seen through any bullshit she’s tried to spin them, “woke up a- two years ago? Or something...”

 

Shit.

 

Her father stands, walking slowly over and sitting beside Maria, pulling her into a one-armed hug.

 

Ah, she realizes, they think she’s upset.

 

Maria feels tears splash onto her hands, wrung tightly on her lap. Oh. Maybe she is.

 

“She came to see me a few months ago, after she started to remember.” Maria says, “It was a total surprise.”

 

“A few months ago?”

 

Shit.

 

“Yes...”

 

“Does Monica know?”

 

Wow, Maria thinks, this really is just like coming out.

 

“Yes.”

 

Well, not quite. Monica still doesn’t know _that._

 

“Where’s Carol now, sweetheart?”

 

“Uhm,” Maria swallows painfully, “she’s at home, with Monica.”

 

Her mother stands, immediately.

 

“Let’s go.”

 

Maria tries to pull out of her father’s comforting arms, but they’re strong, and he’s not letting go.

 

“One moment, dear,” he says, “let’s give Maria a second.”

 

She leans into him, gratefully.

 

They talk a bit longer, about Carol, about Maria, about Monica.

 

Maria does her best to assure her parents that Carol plays no part in any of this except for as a victim. She handwaves something about confidentiality when they reasonably ask _why_ the Air Force lied about thinking Carol was dead. She says they thought she may die anyway, and throws Lawson under the bus as much as it pains her to do so, claiming that there was still an active investigation underway that they needed to be sure Carol played no part in.

 

It’s a weak story, and full of holes, but it does fine.

 

Her mother asks why she took so long to tell them Carol was back, and Maria tells them the truth. She wanted to wait until Carol seemed a little more like herself, until she thought she may stay. She’s got her _back_ , she tells them, she’s sure of it now, but they should be warned that though she seems to feel and act like she used to, her memories are still coming slowly. She remembered that they were in a relationship, and that she loves Monica, and maybe someday she’ll remember it all.

 

As Maria cries, in her father’s arms, she thinks that maybe it would have helped her to come to them with this sooner.

 

Really _just_ like coming out.

 

\--

 

Carol’s playing UNO with Monica when they get home.

 

She looks up, smiling politely at their company.

 

Her mother makes a quiet wounded noise over Maria’s shoulder that she _feels._

 

“Hey Carol,” Maria greets, softly.

 

Carol shifts awkwardly on the floor. After a moment she stands, bringing a hand up before thinking better of the gesture and pulling it back.

 

Maria’s mother pushes past her and pulls Carol to a hug. Her father touches Carol’s shoulder gently, giving her a little more space.

 

“You really don’t remember us, huh?” Maria’s mother asks.

 

Carol makes a noise that sounds almost like a laugh, eyebrows knit guiltily together as she pulls away.

 

“You sound just like Maria.”

 

She puts her hands in her pockets, nervously, and shoots a look at Maria.

 

“She does remember some stuff,” Monica says, giving her grandmother a hug hello, “she forgot everything, but now she remembers a lot about me and mom. Like how she calls me Lieutenant Trouble, and like how she and mom were in the Air Force together, and how we used to go stargazing in the backyard, and when I was born.”

 

“I remember how much I love them both,” Carol says carefully, briefed by Maria from the beginning that her parents were the only ones who knew about their relationship- not even Monica, “but not all of the reasons why yet. Although that’s pretty easy to guess.”

 

“You can come by the house sometime,” her mother offers, “see if it sparks any memories.”

 

Carol nods. Maria bites her lip; she’s not sure if they’re all gonna be good memories, but she supposes they’re Carol’s to recover, happy or not.

 

Maria requested, in the car, that they not ask Carol any questions about where she’s been. She says it’s because Carol’s still a little lost from that time of her life, but really it’s because she needs to tell Carol what exactly all her lies to her parents were.

 

Her mother mostly complies, but asks how she’s feeling, if she has recovered from her injuries. Carol nods, pulls up her sleeve to flash her guns, pulls up the side of her shirt to flash a scar that she’d gotten while she was away.

 

Her mother fusses, invades Carol’s space as she is wont to do, and pushes the fabric back up to run her fingers along the long scar.

 

Maria watches as the easy smile on Carol’s face suddenly drops, a sharp look of recognition passing over her features for a moment.

 

_Maria’s mother hisses as she ghosts a gentle touch over Carol’s bruised ribs, ordering Maria to fetch her something from the freezer. Carol stares at the floor, embarrassed by the attention, resisting the urge to pull away._

 

Carol glances over to Maria, confused. Whatever she’s remembered, she’s probably still only getting pieces, Maria thinks. She smiles at Carol, reassuringly.

 

They sit and talk for hours after. Maria watches Carol closely for anymore signs of recognition, but the other woman seems calm and happy the whole rest of the night. If she feels a sense of familiarity, it’s all positive as far as Maria can tell.

 

Her parents are relaxed as well, smiling genuinely as they tell her stories about herself, or about Maria when she was younger. Her mother tells Carol that she always thought the world of Maria, and would do anything for her; Carol laughs genuinely, meeting Maria’s eyes, communicating silently that she understands the message: Treat Maria Right, Like You Used To.

 

“I still would,” Carol confirms, sincerely, “and for Monica.”

 

“Glad to hear it.”

 

By the time her parents leave, Maria’s nervousness has disappeared. It feels nice, sitting with her family like this again. Her mother kisses Carol’s cheek, grabbing her face tightly and giving her a warm smile. Her father wraps Carol in a tight hug, patting her back as he lets her go. She grins at both of them, still foreign to their warmth, but genuinely enjoying it. It is achingly familiar to all of them but her; Maria’s sure that her parents are also thinking of a younger Carol, smiling that same smile as she realizes she’s got support here, if she wants it.

 

Maria sends Monica to take her shower once her parents leave, so she can corner Carol alone.

 

She doesn’t ask anything, just sits next to Carol quietly.

 

“It was fun,” Carol says.

 

“Fun?”

 

Carol shrugs, staring at the UNO cards sitting on the floor where they left them.

 

Maria runs her knuckles along the side of Carol’s thigh, tilting her head to try to catch Carol’s eyes.

 

“It’s all really weird, having no memories,” she says, quietly, “but I _think_ I feel good around them.”

 

“You think so?” Maria whispers.

 

“Nothing like how I feel around you and Monica,” she says, “my whole chest aches with how much I want to know you.”

 

Maria’s breath catches in her throat.

 

“But it was fun,” Carol repeats, blushing, “I’m sure I’ll like them a lot too, when I remember more.”

 

She pulls away from Maria, dropping to her knees on the floor, and starts picking up UNO cards.

 

“What did you remember?” Maria asks, after Carol wrangles all the splayed corners into a uniform shape.

 

“Mm?”

 

She tabs through the deck, halving the cards and flipping the set as she goes so they’re all facing the same way.

 

“When my mom was invading your privacy.”

 

Carol laughs, flipping cards.

 

“It was fine,” she says, “and I don’t know... she seemed familiar I guess. I don’t really know what I remember. Just her face I suppose.”

 

She’s not meeting Maria’s eyes, and Maria thinks it’s not just because she’s preoccupied with sorting.

 

“Okay...” Maria says, “well... as always-”

 

“I’ll let you know if I have questions,” Carol says, pushing the cards into their little box.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“...Maria,” Carol says, finally meeting her eyes, “I have a question.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Where do these cards go?”

 

She brings the UNO box to her chest.

 

“Monica got them out,” Carol clarifies.

 

Maria rolls her eyes, sagging back into the couch. Carol laughs, eyes crinkling in the way Maria absolutely fucking loves, and she can’t even be annoyed, cause Carol’s always been like this, and Maria has always loved Carol.

 

“Come here, asshole.”

 

“Me?” Carol says, dropping the cards onto the coffee table and climbing into Maria’s lap, straddling her on the couch, “But I tidied.”

 

Maria listens for the sounds of the pipes rumbling to confirm the shower is still going, and hooks her fingers under Carol’s jaw to pull her in for a soft kiss.

 

“It’s nice though,” Carol says after, eyes soft and sweet, “being part of your family.”

 

“We’re so happy to have you,” Maria tells her, hoping Carol feels her sincerity.

 

Her answering kiss tells her she just might.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate all those who left lovely comments on my other two Danbeau fics; keeps me motivated. It was actually some fresh ones on "Nightmares" that kicked me into writing this.
> 
> This chapter was mostly from Maria's point of view, since the point of it is Carol doesn't really remember much yet, but it will shift more and more into Carol's viewpoint. Overall I intend this to be a happy story, as Carol is now very much in a good place in her life, but not all of her memories are as positive.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: just a day in the life of Carol Danvers, space superhero, mom, and wife
> 
> Warnings: no particular warnings for this chapter; mention of bruises but just cause Carol's a superhero who sometimes gets thrown into shit

Carol closes her eyes against the disorienting tumble of trees somersaulting through her vision.

 

It’s her, really, who’s somersaulting, but she’s not sure what to do about that at the present, so she tucks her head closer into her chest and tries to position her limbs in a way that feels protective. Eventually her short series of ricochets ends in a dusty roll, and Carol settles on her back, wheezing up at the hazy sky.

 

She hears boots sink hard into the ground beside her, and turns her head enough to catch sight of the lower half of the asshole who had spiked her hard down a hill. She’s too tired to focus up on his face, so she stares disdainfully at the general area of his crotch and lifts an arm for an accompanying photon blast.

 

The man hops quickly to the side, stumbling a little awkwardly over his feet as he registers where that shot was going.

 

“You’ve lost,” he growls, “the Kree will compensate me well for _you_.”

 

He’s leveling a gun at her, a big green glowing thing that packs a punch; it’s held a little lower than one might normally hold a heavy weapon, like he’s trying to protect his balls. Carol snickers.

 

His rocket boots leave burning clumps in the grass as he struts over to her, coming close enough to press the barrel to her head.

 

“What’s so funny?” He questions, leaning over her, two hands on his weapon.

 

Nothing much at the moment, Carol thinks. The shockwave this thing produces is not energy Carol can absorb, and the last time he fired it, the surprisingly strong blast knocked her hard out of the sky and into the ground... and the ground again, and again.

 

He flicks a hand over the side of the gun, thumb shoving a slider forward, and braces his feet.

 

Carol pushes energy in an arc around her as she rolls out of the way, knocking him off balance as he fires. The powerful shot, narrowed into a focused beam by the slider, goes wide, slicing through a nearby tree.

 

He swings the weapon around, towards her once more, and Carol kicks hard into the air. Dust follows her like smoke off a rocket.

 

She shoots at him with both fists, finally gaining the upper hand in the fight.

 

Carol had come all the way back out into space a couple weeks ago to help Talos defend the Skrulls from attack as they picked up another group of refugees for transport back into, essentially, the safety zone on a ‘Sorry’ board. Carol smiles to herself as knocks the man hard into a tree, happy to have remembered something new about her past- even if that something new is a board game.

 

She was just about to go home- exhausted from fighting off a battalion of Kree ships too chicken to follow them into the area of the galaxy they’d strategically chosen for the Skrulls to live, but not afraid to bring the fight to a weakly-armed, peaceful planet- when this jackass had shown up to collect a bounty on her.

 

She’d just finished escorting the Skrull to their jump point just outside the planet’s atmosphere, heading back to tell the government that the conflict was through, when he decloaked himself, hovering 15 feet away on his stupid rocket boots and shooting her in the chest with a wide-range, charged concussive blast.

 

Carol drops his unconscious body off with the local security force, arms bound behind his back with his own cuffs. She refuses to give him credit for initially kicking her ass, but regrets letting her guard down; she thinks she might just be exhausted.

 

She takes his gun to her spaceship- _her spaceship_ \- which she mainly uses for its jump capabilities. She’s considered attaching something to her suit so she can make the jumps without it, but on the off chance it’ll backfire, she’s been hauling around this hunk of beautiful junk. It is a whole fucking spaceship, even if others are constantly telling her it’s a piece of shit; as the Earth saying goes, _it’ll still get you there._

  
She parks it, cloaked, in Earth’s orbit, and finally goes home.

 

\--

 

“Oh an eleven!” Monica says, “You have to switch with me, Auntie Carol!”

 

“What...” Carol says, taking the card, “I don’t remember _that_ rule.”

 

“It’s been there,” Maria says, from the floor.

 

She’s laying on her back, leaning against a pillow, feet tucked under the coffee table. Monica and Carol sit criss-cross on two of the other sides of the table, focusing more clearly on the pieces in play.

 

Maria reaches a hand up for a card. Monica gives one to her, but complains that she’s not really trying to win if she’s not even looking.

 

“Three,” Maria reads, tight abs pulling her up just enough to glance at the board before she leans back down, holding the card with both hands out in front of her so her elbows don’t knock against the carpeted floor, “I’ve only got one piece out, so move it three pieces for me, baby.”

 

Monica dutifly moves her mother’s piece.

 

“You landed on a slide and knocked Auntie Carol’s piece back to ‘Start’,” she tells her.

 

“What!”

 

Maria grins broadly from the floor, reaching a foot out blindly to affectionately kick Carol under the table.

 

Carol meets her eyes, genuinely offended, but Maria’s smile has shit to do with gaining the upper hand in ‘Sorry’. She peers warmly at her partner, trying to silently communicate that she’s planning on pinning her down for many kisses the second she has the opportunity.

 

Carol gets it.

 

“Can you get me some juice, Lieutenant Trouble?”

 

“No way,” Monica says, “you’re gonna look for the ‘Sorry’ card while I’m gone...”

 

“Monica,” Carol says, placing a hand over her wounded heart, “are you accusing me of cheating? I don’t think you’re allowed to do that; right Maria? Don’t call me ‘she’ and don’t accuse me of cheating at ‘Sorry’.”

 

“Go get some juice,” Maria laughs, “and I’ll make sure she doesn’t cheat.”

 

Monica squints suspiciously, but apparently agrees that it’s rude to imply aloud that Carol would cheat, and heads into the kitchen.

  
Carol scoots very quickly around the table, as Maria sits up.

 

“We have 30 seconds if she goes for juice boxes, and 55 if she pours it,” Carol whispers, grabbing Maria’s shoulders to pull her in for a kiss.

 

Maria kisses her back, trying not to waste their 30 seconds by smiling against her mouth the whole time. She presses her forehead against Carol’s, squeezing her palms affectionately, and peppers her face with quick pecks.

 

Carol glances to the doorway, and Maria swings around so she’s laying in Carol’s lap, Carol’s arms crossed diagonally over her chest because of how Maria is still holding her hands.

 

Monica enters with two glasses of juice, surveying the table for signs of tampering.

 

“I caught her trying to touch the cards,” Maria says, holding Carol’s caught hands in the air.

 

“No!” Carol defends, tightening her grip and dragging Maria into a higher sitting position, “I would never.”

  
Maria giggles, just like Monica does when Carol gently jostles her around.

 

Monica laughs along with them, happy to see her mom happy.

 

“Draw me a card, Mon?” Carol asks, nuzzling her face affectionately into Maria’s neck.

 

“It’s like I’m playing by myself,” she sighs, dramatically, “...ten.”

 

“Nice,” Carol says, reluctantly letting go of Maria and inching back to her spot.

 

She holds a hand out to move a piece ten spaces or one back. They’re all in ‘Start’. She looks at the only live pieces on the board- three by Monica, including one in the safe zone, and one of Maria’s.

 

“Hey...”

 

\--

 

They put Monica to bed after she kicks their asses, banking all 4 pieces before Carol can get all of hers out of ‘Home’. She hugs them both sweetly before tiredly brushing her teeth and shuffling to bed.

 

Maria lets herself into the bathroom once Monica’s door closes, where Carol is getting ready for her shower, stripped down to only her boyshorts. Fading blue and yellow bruises are scattered over her body, some accompanied light scratches and scrapes. It’s not too alarming; even before she became a superhero, Carol was constantly healing from minor injuries, whether it was from falling from a rope, crashing a bike, or zipping too fast around the house and hip-checking the corner of a table.

 

“When did you get these?” Maria asks.

 

“Mm?” Carol twists, touching the large bruise on her hip and twisting her arm to look at her elbow, “I think all were today.”

 

“Today?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Carol shrugs, “I heal fast now I guess. They’ll probably be gone by the morning.”

 

Maria reaches out to brush Carol’s thigh, skirting the scrapes there, and steps in until their hips are nearly touching.

 

“Wanna join?” Carol asks, lightly snagging Maria’s free hand.

 

It’s not a sexy shower, just legitimately a chance for the two of them to hang out. There’s a little kissing and feeling each other up in the beginning, but soon enough, they are casually chatting about whatever comes to mind.

 

After some light conversation, Carol recaps what she’s been up to, which has been a bit of fighting Kree, but mostly hanging out with Talos in the event something _should_ happen while the refugees prepared to leave. Maria’s already heard most of it on their nightly calls, so Carol doesn’t go into too much detail. She tells her about the bounty hunter that dribbled her down a hill, but assures her she won pretty quickly despite being exhausted.

 

Maria’s eyes wander down Carol’s body as she suds up, lingering on the oddly-colored, fading bruises. It’s good that Carol heals so quickly, but Maria can’t help but think back to the fight she’d just had with the Kree, wondering if she'd been injured and healed already in the short time if she'd been gone.

 

Maria doesn’t _value_ seeing Carol hurt, but the thought of not knowing that she was bothers her more.

 

"You'll keep checking in, right?" Maria asks, "When you're out there?"

 

"I- yeah. I called every night, didn't I?"

 

Maria nods.

 

Carol watches her out of the corner of her eye as she steps more directly into the stream of water to rinse off. When she finishes, she steps around Maria, nudging her under the showerhead to do the same so they can wrap up.

 

Maria reminds Carol of the cover story they're selling her parents, that she works for the government, and has to fly out of town for business when they need her. She turns the water off, stepping out and throwing a towel into Carol's chest before she has time to steam the water off her skin.

 

Carol looks at the towel like it's a foreign object, but complies, dabbing herself dry even though she's above such inefficient human processes.

 

"It's just a waste of a towel," Carol retorts, to Maria's teasing, "and I don't even get as dry..."

 

"Do you walk _anywhere_ when you're out in space?"

 

"In _space,_ no, it wouldn't be space if there was something to walk on," Carol says, "on other planets, though, yeah. For the same reason as here- I don't want to draw too much attention to myself all the time."

 

"So aliens don't fly either?"

 

"Not without a jetpack or rocket boots," Carol says, "...that I've seen. The universe is a big, cool place."

 

"Yeah; it is..."

 

Carol stares solemnly at her, towel draped over her head, not even attempting to cover up her whole naked body.

 

"I'd rather be right here though," she says, softly.

 

Maria appreciates the seriousness in Carol's eyes, but she can't have this conversation with Carol's tits right there. She's seen Carol naked enough times that it doesn't faze her, but it still feels too silly for real talk.

 

Maria laughs, a little too loudly, ducking her head before the look on Carol's face can set her off further, and leaves to their room to put her pajamas on.

 

Monica's door is still closed, but Carol at least has enough sense to take her towel off her head and pull it around her as she crosses the hall.

 

"What?" She whispers, closing the door behind them.

 

Maria shakes her head, still giggling.

 

"Put some clothes on, girl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and to all those who commented, bookmarked, and subscribed last time!  
> It's always very appreciated, and reminds me to write.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for reading and reviewing so far! Some great reveiws, and over 80 subscribers, which is nice to see.
> 
> A little angst, cause we gotta confront some situational feelings, but don't worry, I won't drag it out through the story. Conflict between these two ladies will not be a theme.
> 
> No strong warnings for this chapter, but allusions to what has been mentioned before, with some details supporting Carol finding the Rambeau's home to be a greater source of comfort to her own.

Carol doesn’t remember.

 

It’s been months now, happy months of family outings, weekends together at home, evenings after school with Monica, nights with Maria, mornings with Maria, and slightly later mornings with a sleepy Monica too.

 

It's been great, having her back, but Maria can't say she isn't disappointed that Carol hasn't recovered a significant amount of her memories.

 

From what Maria can tell, Carol is comfortable here, even as an amnesiac, but she does get worryingly quiet sometimes. She knows by the way Carol sits out on the porch at night that there are heavy thoughts on her mind, but Maria knows this because it is familiar. Her Carol was also prone to bouts of silence, of time taken to clear her head.

 

What’s not familiar is that when Maria sits beside her, Carol looks away. It breaks her heart, to not be let in. She implicitly expects the trust that she has not yet earned, not for _this_ Carol.

 

Maria tries not to take it personally, especially because, if she’s honest with herself, they’re in the same boat. She would tell _her_ Carol- and she knows she shouldn’t separate the two like this, but she does- that she’s overwhelmingly happy that she’s back, but so scared of losing her again, not to the dangers of space, but the allure of it. Whichever form of space she is looking for.

 

Maria has been trying hard not to overly crowd her, worries even that a loving gesture at the wrong moment will scare her into running away. Most of the time it’s like nothing’s changed, but every once in a while it’s as if Carol has not had time to prepare herself to receive the sudden onslaught of Monica’s love, or Maria’s touch, and she doesn’t know how to respond. Maria backs off immediately, and has noticed Monica doing the same, perceptive to Carol’s incongruous reaction even at her young age. Carol usually disappears for a bit after that happens; whether for the same reasons she pulled away, or because she senses she's making them uncomfortable, Maria's not sure.

 

She sits beside the woman who used to know her better than anyone, and waits for her to speak.

 

When Carol doesn’t turn to look at her after a few minutes, Maria catches her throat tightening painfully; she stands as casually as she can and flees inside, upstairs, into her room.

 

Maria leans against her shut door, holding her hand over her mouth, and tries to not sob loudly enough for Monica to hear. She steps away from the door and walks around to Carol’s side of the bed to get further from the hall, sitting heavily. Maria gives herself a moment to cry before attempting to think about exactly what is upsetting her. After she’s let it out enough to take a shaky breath and open her watery eyes, she runs through the options.

 

She doesn’t really think Carol’s going to leave again, not outside of her brief stints to help Talos when she's needed.

 

Carol’s sad, she thinks, and she wishes she could give herself enough credit to say these are purely empathetic tears, but Maria knows that’s not it either.

 

Frustration that Carol’s sad and Maria doesn’t know how to help? Maria contemplates this one. It feels close to the answer, but she has dealt with this side of Carol before, before they were quite everything to each other. She figured it out once, and she knows she can again.

 

She thinks she can, anyway. It’s like she’s starting over. Maria's knees curl inwards towards her chest as she rocks forward to bury her head in her hands. She knew _her_ Carol so well, but she doesn't know what to do now.

 

She lost the woman she loved six years ago, and she’s not sure she’s ever really going to get her back. This Carol is leagues better than no Carol, but she can’t help but still mourn for her friend; if she doesn’t have any memories of what makes her who she is, then maybe she really did die, in some way.

 

Maria wipes the tears off her face with her whole palms, as more fall from her eyes and into the space between her fingers. She’s in love with this woman she has now, she knows it, but if she continues to pretend _her_ Carol is coming back any day now, then it’s not going to help either of them. She needs to mourn that loss at last so she can move on.

 

The door handle squeaks hesitantly, and Maria knows it’s Carol before the door is finally eased open and shut again. Monica would have knocked.

 

“Hey,” Carol announces softly, when Maria doesn’t turn around.

 

She sits on Maria’s side of the bed, pulling her legs up and turning so she’s a foot behind Maria.

 

“What’s wrong?” Carol asks.

 

Maria shakes her head, pulling her shirt up to wipe her face of tears, sniffling ineffectually to limit the amount of snot she gets on there as well. Carol hands her one of the wadded up napkins she generally keeps stuffed in her coat pocket, ignoring the nice box of tissues sitting just behind her on Maria’s nightstand.

 

Maria laughs into the clean, but scratchy and crumpled napkin, chest rumbling in a shaky inhale, before blowing her nose and throwing it across the room into the trash can beside the dresser. She wipes her face again, with a cleaner part of her shirt.

  
“I don’t know,” she says; she’s not going to hurt her feelings like that.

 

Carol’s knees sink into the mattress behind Maria as she shifts closer. Maria finds herself leaning more naturally backwards as the dip in the bed, like a gravitational pull, aids Carol in bringing Maria to her chest. She settles in behind her, popping her feet on either side of Maria’s legs, off the bed, and Maria is horrified to see she’s still wearing her boots.

 

“That’s okay,” Carol says, softly, “I don’t know why I’m crying sometimes, too.”

 

Maria stiffens, and Carol loosens her grip, taking it as a cue. She sticks a heel up on the edge of the bed frame, a sign she is preparing to extricate herself, so Maria grabs her arm, pulling it around her shoulders once more. She sags backwards, turning her head so her nose presses into the corner of Carol's jaw.

 

Maria's being unfair, she realizes, as her sweet girlfriend dips her head to nuzzle back.

 

Her Carol is right here with her.

 

Instead of taking what she's learned of the woman over years of friendship and partnership to help her through what she's going through, she's treating her like someone else.

 

Maria knew what it meant when _her_ Carol sat quietly, sought isolation, reacted strangely to affection.

 

Maria’s been letting her grief over what Carol doesn’t remember make her think that the reasons she’s doing it now are too foreign for her to understand. She’s been pulling away, which she knows is the last thing she would have done if Carol was acting this way 6 years ago. Which, Maria thinks, she did, from time to time.

 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, turning Carol’s palm over to kiss it.

 

“No,” Carol says, holding her tighter around her waist.

 

“I really _have_ been enjoying having you back,” Maria assures her.

 

“I-” Carol loosens her grip, “Well I _thought_ you had... that statement kind of makes me think you haven’t, a little...”

 

She laughs nervously, a short huff which Maria recognizes as the sound that followed a variety of statements Carol immediately regretted saying aloud in her life.

 

“I’m sorry,” Maria repeats, “I was just... afraid that I’ve been making you uncomfortable.”

 

“You make me feel very comfortable,” Carol says, so softly that some of the syllables don’t catch.

  
It’s still clearly intended for her to hear, and Carol clears her throat so she can keep breathing her words without losing them.

 

“I’m the one that can’t figure out how to f-   _act_ like a person...”

 

Carol’s arms tighten around Maria. She thinks it’s so she can’t turn to look at her.

 

“You were like that before,” Maria admits, not unkindly.

 

“Huh?”

 

Maria pulls Carol’s arms off of her gently, before reaching down to unlace the other woman’s boots.

 

“I mean, I think you _do_ act like a person,” she clarifies, “you’re just acting like you used to when you were a bit sad. It worried me...”

 

She pulls Carol’s first boot off with a fair amount of effort, tapping her ankle with two fingers so she’ll cooperate at least and wiggle her foot around. It drops heavily onto the floor, and Maria starts on the next shoe.

 

“I understand if all of this is a little stressful,” Maria says, “but... you are happy here, overall?”

 

She drops the other boot, turning in Carol’s lap to meet her eyes.

 

They’re wet.

  
Carol slides a hand under one of Maria’s legs, the other around her waist, and gently pulls her into the center of the bed. Maria ends up sprawled on top of her sideways, as Carol wriggles far enough back that she can pull her feet up.

 

Maria laughs, rolling off of her and waiting for her to settle before laying her head on Carol’s chest, throwing a bent knee over her hips.

 

“I _am_ very happy here, I promise,” Carol says, head tilted up and away from her, “I don't really know why I've been feeling weird. Sorry if I worried you... Is that why you were crying?”

 

“I just want you to talk to me,” Maria admits, “I know you don’t remember much, but really did try to tell each other what was on our minds.”

 

“Like when I was worried that you coming out to your parents meant they weren’t going to talk to me anymore?” Carol says, without missing a beat.

 

Maria sits up, leaning a hand hard into Carol’s ribcage as she turns to face her. She moves it to the bed, so she’s not hurting her, but she’s seen the woman punch a spaceship, so she’s probably fine.

 

“You remember that?” Maria asks, “What else do you remember?”

 

“Oh,” Carol says, meeting her eyes sheepishly, “I don’t know, there’s a lot of stuff in there.”

 

“Wh-” Maria twists fully, so she can sit, “A lot of what? You remember a _lot of stuff?_ ”

 

“I don’t know,” Carol mumbles, “It’s not all sudden flashbacks. There’s just some stuff in there, and sometimes I think about it. Like a normal memory.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

“Tell you what?” Carol looks confused.

 

Maria brings her palms up, to rub into her temples.

  
“I thought... I don’t know, I thought the memories we talked about were the only ones you got back,” Maria sets her jaw, trying not to cry again, “are you... do you feel like you? Like Carol?”

 

Carol looks hurt.

 

“I’ve been ‘me’ for months, Maria,” she says, “I mean... I think... you didn’t think so? This whole time?”

 

Maria swallows thickly, staring at Carol’s stomach.

 

She really had it wrong, separating _her_ Carol from _this_ one. Maria’s not sure how much she thought Carol would have to remember before she thought she was _hers_ again, but maybe it's an unfair metric.

 

“I... I don’t know what I’ve got back,” Carol says, “I don’t really know what I’m missing, either, but I bet it’s a lot more. I guess I’m still not what you’re used to, but-”

 

“You are,” Maria assures her, “It’s just been a while, I think.”

 

She leans to kiss her, approaching slowly so Carol can turn away if she wants to. Carol brings her hand gently to the base of Maria’s skull as she reciprocates.

 

Maria’s actually not surprised Carol remembers more than she let on. The woman’s always been bad at talking about her shit, even the less serious shit. She’ll have to make more of an effort to coax it out of her. 

  
“We should figure out where you’re at,” Maria says, “do you remember how we met?”

 

“Uhh,” Carol squints, staring at the ceiling, “well, you said it was when I moved here during high school.”

 

“Mhm...” Maria prompts.

 

“In track?” Carol frowns, “I... don’t remember much about high school. When I saw your room at your parents’ house the other day, I remembered climbing in through your window; I guess that must have been then.”

 

“You did that a lot,” Maria says, “my mom really wanted you to use the door.”

 

They hadn’t met on a track field, or at Maria’s window, but the real answer was pretty uneventful- they technically met in one of the classes they shared, but they didn’t talk much until Maria decided to hit up the new girl doing endless jogging laps around their sprinting practice.

 

“Was she mad at me?” Carol asks, a fist clenched over her heart.

 

“My mom?”

 

“Yeah,” Carol says, “for climbing in the window?”

 

“I guess?” Maria says, “Not super mad, she liked having you over.”

 

She studies Carol’s face, notes the way she’s still pressing down on her chest. She seems to feel her memories as much as she recalls them, and if she’s remembering one of her many visits through Maria’s window, she might be feeling a bit of why she was there.

 

“Do you remember why you came over?” Maria asks, gently.

 

“I don’t know,” Carol says, with the barest smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “I was over there a lot. Maybe I had a crush on you.”

 

“You did,” Maria confirms, “I think you might have known it, too.”

 

She’d come out to Maria a bit on accident late in high school, when Maria was trying to work whatever was going on with her father this time out of her. Carol had come in through the window, as she always did when she’d had a fight at home. She wanted to avoid Maria’s mother, who meant well, but wasn’t who Carol was there to see. Neither Maria nor Carol had implied that actual feelings for Maria were in any way on the table around the accusations her dad had been throwing around, but Carol had distanced herself from the other girl for a week after their conversation. Maria eventually cornered her behind the bleachers after school, sitting and leaning her head on Carol’s shoulder like she always did, so Carol knew they were still cool.

 

Maria wonders if it's fair to think these are the kinds of memories that made Carol who she was, or if they are something better left behind.

 

“Oh, I think I do I remember how we started dating, though,” Carol says, “I definitely had a crush on you  _then._ Well, I was in love with you. I guess that's different."

 

Maria smiles, laying back down against her chest.

 

"Tell me," she asks her Carol. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll go a bit more into Carol's moods and feelings, but now that Maria gets it herself, she's good. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know how you liked it. These aren't necessarily quick to write, and the feedback makes me feel real good. 
> 
> Y'all have been sweet so far with your comments, thanks. ♥
> 
> If anyone feels like hitting me up on tumblr I'm @softgaycontent and I reblog a lotta danbeau.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter summary: dinner at the Rambeau's leads to some questions
> 
> Warnings: referenced child abuse
> 
> References to Carol's family come pretty directly from at least the most recent comics depiction of her dad and her brothers. Her mom is just a normal human woman, though, unlike in her new backstory, cause I think that one's silly.
> 
> More comments about future chapters in end notes.

“Carol, dear,” Mrs Rambeau says, passing her the green beans, “why don’t you tell us about your new job?”

  
Carol takes the bowl, which she’d purposely avoided on its first pass, and dishes a small amount on her plate. Monica, who had also been forced to take some vegetables, sticks her tongue out cheekily the second her grandmother turns away.

 

“It’s not really new,” Carol says, trying to uphold the lie she and Maria had settled on, “I’ve been working there since I uh, recovered. They just make me go back now and then to consult.”

 

“Does it pay well?”

 

Not even a little bit.

 

“Yep.”

 

Carol smiles at Mrs Rambeau, directs the same smile, apologetically, towards Maria.

 

Maybe if Fury ever uses that pager she can get SHIELD to write her a check.

 

Mrs Rambeau hums, in approval, glad her daughter is being taken care of.

 

“Monica baby,” Maria says, before her mother can grill Carol any more about her fake job, “why don’t you tell your grandma and papa about your science project?”

 

Monica does, excited to share in great detail, and Maria fondly watches Carol as she attentively listens to a story she’s already heard. It’s very endearing.

 

Her father pretends to not understand some of the more researched pieces of Monica’s project, so she can explain to him, and Maria feels a burst of love for her whole family, grateful for the people she is raising her daughter around.

 

Carol finishes her green beans, and finds the bowl of them in her hands once again.

 

“You need extra vegetables for your recovery,” Mrs Rambeau tells her.

 

Carol pouts, looking to Maria for help.

 

“Mm, speaking of you being back,” Mrs Rambeau says, “when are you going to see your parents?”

 

“Uh,” Carol says, like it’s the first time the thought has occurred to her; which it definitely is.

 

“She’s not,” Maria says.

 

Carol looks to her, confused. Monica leans over her plate, lowering her full fork and watching the exchange with wide eyes.

 

“She can’t  _ not tell them,”  _ Mrs Rambeau huffs, “they’ve still got friends here; what if one of them sees Carol at the supermarket and calls them?”

 

Carol takes advantage of the distraction and puts the bowl of green beans down.

 

“No one thinks you have to make them a part of your lives again,” Mr Rambeau says, agreeing with his wife, “but they are your parents, they do deserve to know you’re not  _ dead _ , Carol.”

 

“I- yeah,” Carol says, “that sounds reasonable.”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maria says, to Carol; her parents, assuming she’s talking to them, both shoot her warning looks, “-Carol. Carol doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

 

“I don’t,” Carol agrees, nervously, “I’m starting to think I really don’t...”

 

She glances at Monica, the only one who seems to be in the same boat as her.

 

“Why don’t we wait until she remembers more, and then  _ she  _ can decide,” Maria suggests.

 

Carol taps two fingers on the table, starting directly at Maria. All eyes on the table settle on her.

 

“How bad?” Carol mouths, holding a loose fist by the side of her face to block Monica’s view.

 

When Maria doesn’t immediately answer, Carol stands from the table.

  
“Pardon me,” she says, nodding to Maria’s parents, “Maria?”

  
Carol steps away, into the kitchen.

 

Maria follows, cringing at Monica’s wide eyes.

 

Carol’s leaning against the fridge when she enters, holding one of the magnets between her fingers.

 

“Sorry,” Maria says, fuming a little, “my mom should know better-”

 

“I should know better,” Carol says, “but I don’t really know anything, so why don’t you just fill me in, since no-one has so far.”

 

By no-one, Maria knows she means  _ her _ . She’s the only one who should have filled her in.

 

“You don’t get along with your parents,” Maria says, “you moved out after you graduated and never went home.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds like the Monica version of this story,” Carol says, leveling a look at Maria, “can you talk to me like I’m an adult who deserves to know about her own life?”

 

Maria frowns, anger lightly sparking in her that she knows is just mishandled guilt.

 

“Your dad’s an asshole,” she says, staring at Carol’s shoes, “he was, mm... violent... with you and your brothers. Your mom didn’t seem to care.”

 

“Oh,” Carol says, “that’s fine.”

 

“ _ No,”   _ Maria says, anger flaring back up, on behalf of the Carol she used to know; she knows they’re the same person, but no-one has the right to brush over this.

 

“I mean,” Carol defends, raising both hands, “If I go, I’ll be fine; what’s he gonna do to me? I could put him through a wall.”

 

“That’s not the point,” Maria mumbles.

 

“Yeah,” Carol says, “I guess not. Would it help if I  _ did _ put him through a wall?”

 

Maria laughs, a short huff, rubbing both palms over her eyebrows.

 

“OK, well, before I remember how much I hate him,” Carol says, “I’ll just go do my ‘not dead’ visit, get it out of the way, and then never see them ever again. All good?”

 

“I guess,” Maria sighs.

 

It’s reasonable enough, and her mother may be right; it would be worse if they found out another way that Carol was alive.

 

Carol glances towards the door, to make sure no-one, particularly a cute young child, has followed them, then pulls Maria in for a kiss. Maria rests her forehead against Carol’s, nuzzling against the side of Carol’s face.

 

“What if you remember how much you hate him while you’re there...?”

 

“Well,” Carol says, “we already established it was cool if I put him through a wall, yeah?”

 

She winks, taking Maria’s hand and pulling her back towards the dining room.

 

Mr Rambeau did his best, while they were gone, to resume normal conversation, but his wife doesn’t even pretend to care about what they are talking about as Maria and Carol enter, turning to look at them both expectantly.

 

“It’s all  _ fine,” _ Carol assures, smiling wide at a worried Monica, “I don’t remember enough to get into arguments with them, like before, so I will say hello and then I’ll leave again.”

 

Mrs Rambeau looks puzzled, shooting Maria a look as if to ask exactly what she told Carol; Maria smiles, trying to subtly gesture over to Monica to explain Carol’s wording. 

 

Her father nods.

 

“When are you leaving, then?”

 

“Well, where are they?” Carol asks.

 

“They moved back to Boston a couple years after you graduated.”

 

“Are my brothers there too?”

 

Maria grimaces.

 

“Just one of them, sweetheart,” her mother says, gently, “Stevie died when you were in high school.”

 

“Oh,” Carol says, shrugging, a light smile on her face; she feels like someone  _ else’s _ brother has died, and she has to be polite about the loss of this stranger, “what’s the other one called?”

 

“JJ,” Monica tells her.

 

Carol tries to picture brothers. There was one, she remembers clearly, who raced go-karts with her, and pointed out the stars. Another, who shoved her into the sand when she was little, who she ate ice cream with. The three of them, crammed into the back of a car, as she and JJ elbowed each other and Stevie, the one who watched the stars with her, rolled his eyes and told them to knock it off.

  
Two brothers, yeah.

 

“I’ll go soon,” Carol says, and picks up the bowl of green beans, to put more on her plate, “Henry, what were you saying about the garden when we walked in?”

 

Maria rubs her temples.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief assurances that I hold no beliefs that anyone owes bad family anything. Carol is truly popping by as a part of trying to reintegrate herself back into her old earth life with no troubles, and there will be NO storyline where she is reconciling with a bad father. Sorry if that's spoilers, some people may want the assurance.
> 
> More sweet domesticity later, but this fic will continue to be a reasonable mix of fluff and hurt/comfort. I hope for it to all balance out alright!
> 
> Thanks for reading and reviewing so far! You guys are great. If you continue to do so below, I will be very grateful. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Carol tells her parents she's alive.  
> Chapter Warnings: Direct references to past child abuse  
> Possible Reassurances: no forgiving of abusers; also, this is at times a hurt/comfort fic but that always means comfort will follow if there's hurt (and it does, in this same chapter)  
> Feel free to comment asking for more details, or skip this one, if any of that may bother you. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's read, followed, and reviewed so far! I really appreciate it. Enjoy.

Maria wakes slowly to a sun-lit room, her arms wrapped tightly around her partner’s waist. Several strands of her golden hair float in Maria’s immediate vision, sparkling in the morning light, and Maria pulls away from the back of Carol’s neck as non-disruptively as she can, shaking her head to get Carol’s hair out of her face.

 

Carol shifts in response, rolling over and pushing Maria onto her back, nuzzling into her neck.

 

Her hair is _still_ in Maria’s face.

 

“Pthh,”

 

Maria giggles, brushing her fingers over the top of Carol’s hair to bring it behind her, away from the both of them.

  
Carol kisses the side of Maria’s neck, lifting her head slightly to press another under her jaw, at her pulse-point. A shiver passes through Maria at the contact. Carol’s been back in their lives for months now, and Maria feels like the luckiest woman in the world each morning she wakes up beside her. It’s particularly nice these early Saturday mornings, when Monica has no school to get ready for, and her mother’s not trying to drag them all to church.

 

Carol’s been doing better, as well. In addition to remembering more of her life with Monica and Maria, her low moods have been hitting less frequently than they were when she first returned, and instead of isolating herself to the porch, she’s been hanging with them both, seemingly having a good time.

 

Maria’s worried, with her upcoming trip, that she might see more and more of Carol outside at night.

 

Carol presses another kiss- and then several more- to Maria’s neck, and Maria drops that chain of thought, for the moment. She flips Carol onto her back, returning the favor, and earns the sweet sound of Carol’s soft laughter.

 

\--

 

“You’re going to see your parents today?” Monica asks, kicking her heels lightly against the crossbar of her chair, “Can I come?”

 

“No baby,” Maria says.

 

“Are you going?”

 

“No,” Maria says.

 

It’s best, Maria reluctantly agreed, that Carol go alone. Her parents never liked the Rambeaus much as it was, and going will likely only confirm their long-held suspicions that their daughter is gay. 

 

“I’ll be back by dinner,” Carol assures them, “but if your grandma asks, I’ve been gone _all_ weekend and I’ll be back Monday.”

 

“You just want to get out of church,” Monica giggles.

 

“Monica,” Maria warns.

 

She’s right, of course.

 

Carol gives them each a cheek-kiss goodbye, and takes off for Boston.

 

\--

 

Carol lands near a rocky shoreline. The rocks are dusted with snow, the sky is grey, and it’s cold has hell. The dreary weather seems to have deterred most visitors, though further along the water she sees a young man taking pictures of a bundled woman; they don’t seem to have noticed her.

 

This whole place is achingly familiar, from the sound of the water lapping against the rocks, to the style of buildings in the beachfront.

 

She remembers playing here twenty years ago, with a young boy, just a bit older than she was. That’d be her brother JJ, she supposes. She has no expectation of seeing him today; ‘Joseph Danvers’ only yielded one name in the Yellow Pages, her father. Without a guess for where he lives now, she has little hope of finding Joe Jr without help; she doesn’t remember enough yet to care anyway.

 

Carol makes her way to the main road. She can warm herself just fine in the cold vacuum of space, so this 35 degree weather really is nothing; the real challenge is making sure she isn’t visibly glowing when cars pass.

 

The house itself is not where she lived before moving to Louisiana, Maria tells her, but it’s nearby, within 10 miles or so. She remembers that they’d lived near this beach, finds the look of the roads familiar, but has nothing much coming back to her on her home. 

 

Carol kicks aside old dirty snow as she walks up the drive, fascinated by the feeling of it crunching beneath her boots.

 

She approaches the plain white door, takes a deep breath, and knocks.

 

A tall, older man with a neat beard answers the door. He looks startled.

 

Carol is surprised by the fear that lances suddenly and strongly through her chest. It’s a physical jolt which seizes the breath in her chest and lingers like a shot of whiskey.

 

Carol, who can punch a hole through a spaceship with her bare fists, steps back.

 

“I- Carol?” Her father says, gaping.

 

She tucks her hands behind her back, urges herself to calm down.

 

He was violent, Maria says. Carol remembers that. She tries not to accept the memories that surface, lets them sink back down to the riverbed.

 

“Yeah,” she says, taking a step forward, “mind if I come in?”

 

Joseph Danvers steps aside just enough to let her inside, but his grip on the door means she either has to knock into him to enter, or slip through sideways.

 

She clips his chest with her shoulder.

 

He shuts the door.

 

“Marie...” he calls, pointing Carol towards the living room, following close behind.

 

The learned fear response thrumming through Carol’s chest tells her he’s fuming. 

 

Her mother, Marie, supposedly- she has no memory of the woman, beside a vague recognition of her face- is sitting on the larger of two couches, a book in hand and a coffee in front of her on the coffee table.

 

She’s dressed in a grey robe, over blue pajamas, and her blonde hair is pulled into two loose braids. She’s closing her book as they enter, looking curiously towards the doorway. She catches Carol halfway through standing to greet their guest, and doesn’t make it all the way up.

 

“Carol?” she manages, dropping back hard onto the couch, “Wh-”

 

“Yep. Me. Carol. Hey.”

 

”Carol’s here to fucking explain herself,” her father says, icily.

 

Marie nods, mouth agape.

 

Joe passes close by his daughter, but does not touch her, settling into the armchair at the edge of a dull, worn rug. He picks up a beer from the other side of the chair on the floor. It’s mostly full, but clinks against something on its way up; Carol assumes there’s at least another empty one over there.

 

“Okay, so, uh,” Carol says, fucking explaining herself, “my plane went down-”

 

She pauses; they’d told the Rambeaus she was in a coma after a bad landing of a faulty plane, but the idea of seeming weak at all in front of this man makes her feel sick.

 

“Well, I- it’s classified.”

 

“Classified?” her mother says, tears in her eyes but eyebrows furrowed angrily; clearly as happy as she is to see Carol alive, she’s also not happy with her for seemingly leaving them to think otherwise.

 

Shit. 

 

Carol has no deep love for this woman she doesn’t remember yet, and Maria did not make it sound like Carol had really missed either of them after moving out, but it feels a little cold, not giving the woman answers about what happened to her own daughter. Even if their relationship was not great, it’s not like that between her and her father. 

 

“I’m not supposed to talk about what happened,” Carol says, more softly, looking only to her, “but there was... a problem with the plane. I managed to land it safely, but the engine blew a few minutes after I got it on the ground.”

 

“Were you hurt?” her mother demands, now looking a little more stricken than mad, “Why did they tell us you’d died?”

 

“I can’t tell you the details,” Carol repeats, “but the official statement was that I was dead.”

 

“ _Why?_ ”

 

“I don’t know,” Carol says, lamely, “I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter- I don’t remember anything anyway.”

 

“About the crash?

 

“Like.. my life. My name?” Carol rubs the back of her neck, “Everything, really.”

 

“Your name’s Carol.” Her father says, with none of the warmth or love Maria’s same response contained.

 

“Yeah, they, uh, briefed me on that much.”

 

“Do you remember... us?” her mother asks.

 

Carol shakes her head.

 

“If she forgot her own fuckin’ name Marie,” her father huffs, “how’s she gonna remember people?”

 

“Don’t talk to me like that,” Marie says, rolling her eyes; a tear trickles out of the side.

 

She seems unperturbed by his anger; the uneasiness Carol’s felt since she got here doesn’t seem to affect the woman at all. Whatever he was like to his kids must not be how he is to his wife, at least.

 

“If we believe a word she’s saying,” he adds.

 

“Believe what you like,” Carol says, curtly, “I just wanted to tell you in person that I’m okay, now that I’m allowed.”

 

“You tell _that girl_ you’re alive yet?” 

 

Carol tries not to look surprised by the question.

 

“Her father was the one who called to tell us you’d died,” he says, “that fuckin’ girl’s father knew before your own. Guess you took us off your emergency contact list.”

 

“Joe...”

 

“Maybe you should get the fuck out, actually.” 

 

He drains the remainder of his beer, throwing it on the floor, just where the rug ends. There’s a loud crack as it connects with the tile, but too much rattling afterwards for it to have shattered.

 

It’s loud, though; enough to make Carol flinch. Maybe that was his intention.

 

A beat passes, in tense silence. Carol squares her shoulders, crossing to stand in front of him. 

 

“Any reason I’d have taken you off?” she challenges, eyes narrowed.

 

Joe stands, and Carol manages to not take a step back. She’s using all her willpower to keep her hands unlit, which means she has absolutely none left to resist the urge to shove him back into his seat.

 

The chair tips back for half a second, before a spluttering Joe Danvers can throw his weight forward, planting his feet firmly onto the floor to stand again, a hand shooting towards Carol to grab a fistful of her jacket.

 

Before he’s all the way up, Carol places a hand on his shoulder, easily pushing him back down again.

 

She can’t really help the short laugh that escapes her.

 

“Carol,” her mother warns, as Joe jumps up once more.

 

She does step back, this time, before he can make another pass at grabbing at her.

 

Carol smiles back at his enraged expression.

 

He balls his hands into fists, bringing one up as a clear threat, before unfurling a finger to point at her.

 

She catches his wrist, pulling it towards her and clapping her opposite hand onto his shoulder, so his arm is mostly extended. She pushes down, again. Even with his stance firm and his knees locked, he’s no match for her, not anymore.

 

Her father, for the third time, finds his ass sat firmly in his seat. 

 

Carol doesn’t let go; she twists his wrist, like he used to, and squeezes his shoulder hard enough to leave bruises. Carol plants a foot on the very edge of the seat, between his knees, leaning in close.

 

“Don’t fucking remind me,” she tells him.

 

She lets go, takes her foot down without pushing the chair ass-backwards like she really wants to, and turns to look at her mother. 

 

Marie looks more annoyed at their antics than really scared, so Carol’s not too worried for her. She might be able to see why she’d just gone ahead and dropped them both, when she left home.

 

Regardless, she mouths, “are you good here?”

 

Marie looks a little surprised, before her expression shifts back to annoyed. She nods.

 

Among Carol’s many new skillsets is a particularly sharp set of reflexes, so when the other empty beer bottle comes into Joe’s hand and up towards her general direction, she has responded to the threat before really having a chance to think. 

 

By the time it’s exploded into a million pieces by a photon zap, there’s really no taking it back. Carol quickly grabs the now-sharp neck out of his loose, shocked grip, her arm already raised from shooting it, and throws it on the floor.

 

Carol hopes he was looking too high to see her hand glow; she hopes he thinks she hit it, and broke it with her fist; she hopes he doesn’t wonder how she could do _that,_ either; she hopes her back was blocking her mother’s whole view of the situation.

 

A memory hits Carol, looking into her father’s face, of his hand wrapped tightly around her throat, the other holding the collar of her jacket. Her heels skirt the edge of the stairs, unable to move with his large, imposing figure and strong arms barring her from safety. 

 

That was what she _used_ to get for trying to fight back; this is what she gets now.

 

She doesn’t really care what he saw, she decides, walking out of the room, out of the house, without another word. She hopes it puts the fear of God in the motherfucker.

 

\--

 

Carol lands in Louisiana in time for dinner.

 

She catches Maria in the kitchen, wearing a cute pair of jeans, an open hoodie pushed up to expose her forearms, and one of Carol’s tee shirts; the sight of her partner wearing her clothes puts a different kind of warmth in her chest. Her natural hair peeks out of the edge of a red and gold-patterned scarf, and she’s her hood pulled around her neck in a way that Carol thinks is for warmth.

 

“Hey,” Carol greets, as she turns away from the stove.

 

Maria sighs deeply, crossing the space between them quickly to throw her strong arms around Carol’s neck.

 

Carol tries to assure her she’s fine, it went well, but her throat suddenly constricts and she’s not so sure.

 

With sudden unpleasant emotions crashing over her, Carol feels that damn urge to run away and hide that’s been plaguing her every so often since she got back. Most of the time she spends with her family is nothing but joy, but now and then she feels strange. She can tell they notice, when she gets like this, which only makes it worse.

 

Carol pulls away, ducking her head and stepping to the side, trying to shake off this feeling before it ruins another one of her nights. Maria catches her wrist- gently, loosely, so she can easily take it back if she wanted to. She lets go, moves her hand to the side of Carol’s shoulder- comforting, loving; not painful, or scary.

 

Maria meets her eye, turns the stove down, and nudges Carol towards the backyard. She opens the door for her, one hand resting on Carol’s lower back, and throws a look over her shoulder before following her outside.

 

Carol feels tears clipping her cheeks, falling straight down from her ducked head. She lets out a rattling breath, leaning against the wall and sliding onto the floor, frustrated at the sudden shift in her mood. 

 

Sure, the memories she’d recovered weren’t that great, but they happened a long time ago, and she’d managed not to linger on them, yet. She’d have to think about it eventually, but she’d been so good for the past hour, riding the high from putting her father in his fucking seat.

 

She shakes her head, embarrassed, as Maria wraps her arms around her shoulders, squatting beside her.

 

“It was a good visit,” Carol says, voice tight with tears, “get off; it went well.”

 

Maria gets off, sitting criss-cross over Carol’s feet. She rests her palms on Carol’s knees and looks at her softly.

 

“I shoved him into his chair,” Carol says, “like, made him sit.”

 

“Good,” Maria smiles, eyes watery now as well.

 

“Three times,” Carol manages, after another breath.

 

“I’m glad,” Maria laughs, blinking slowly until her eyes are a little less glassy; she rubs her thumbs over Carol’s kneecaps.

 

“Is my mom okay there?” Carol asks.

 

Maria shrugs, “You always said he wouldn’t hurt her.”

 

“That’s good.”

 

“Yeah,” Maria agrees, rubbing circles now; they tickle.

 

Carol wipes her face.

 

She wants to ask Maria what she’d told her, how much she knows. She’s been sharing with Maria more and more of her recovered memories, the other woman telling stories of her own life in return. They’ve talked pretty deep, but haven’t really touched on this, yet.

 

Looking into her warm brown eyes, Carol recalls a younger Maria. Her natural hair is longer, pulled into a tight bun. Her gaze is anxious as she juggles a frozen bag of fruit, sitting before her just as she is doing now.

 

She used to climb through Maria’s bedroom window when she needed somewhere to go. Sometimes they’d sit and talk for a while and Carol would go home; other times, she’d climb back down to the backyard and cross around to the front, ringing the doorbell so Maria’s mother would invite her in for dinner.

 

It was a lot to put onto a teenage girl, Carol thinks now, but she supposes she was just a teenage girl then too. 

 

“Amnesia sucks,” Carol says.

 

“Mm...”

 

“I feel so weird all the time, and I don’t even know why,” Carol sighs, while Maria moves her thumbs down Carol’s shins and back up, “I’m sorry I’ve been really quiet sometimes... I don’t know-” Carol pauses, unused to being so vulnerable; it feels right, with Maria though, “I don’t really know how to act when I’m feeling this way, so I just go outside. I don’t want to make you or Monica feel bad.”

 

“It’s okay,” Maria assures her.

 

“I know it’s a little off-putting,” Carol says, “hopefully I’ll get the rest of my memories back soon.”

 

“Well,” Maria says, looking at Carol a little funny, “I’m not really sure it’ll completely go away.”

 

“What?”

 

“I mean you did it before,” Maria says gently, “pulling away sometimes.”

 

“I-” Carol blinks.

 

She’s been feeling awful. It’s bad and shitty and it’s just... her? How she’s supposed to be?

 

“What are you talking about?” Carol asks, frustrated.

 

“Sometimes you had quiet days,” Maria says.

 

“Why?”

 

“I don’t know,” Maria says, “but... I got you, Carol. Okay?”

 

This is who she was? Who she is? Sad, traumatized? This is normal for her?

 

“We got better at it, you and me,” Maria continues, “recognizing these moods in time to help. You might get them more often for a bit, as your memory comes back, but I can help you, if you’ll let me.”

 

Carol stares at her knees; Maria has stopped touching them. She holds a finger up, to wait, and walks inside.

 

Carol wipes her eyes again, pulling loose napkins out of her coat to blow her nose.

 

Maria steps back outside after a minute, holding a bright blue washcloth, and a box of tissues.

 

She drops the tissues on the ground, smiling fondly at her partner. Maria sits on one folded leg, throwing the other over Carol’s lap; she’s almost straddling her, except that she’s supporting her own weight so they aren’t really touching.

 

“It’s cold,” she warns, before pressing the cloth to Carol’s face.

 

It is cold.

 

Carol sighs, letting Maria dab at her hot, tear-stained cheeks with the damp washcloth.

 

Blindly, Carol feels up the sides of Maria’s legs, hooking her fingers through her belt loops, and pulls Maria’s hips fully onto her own. Maria settles her weight at last, giggling as she gently soothes Carol’s warm face.

 

“Is this part of it?” Carol asks, feeling shy but loved.

 

“I guess,” Maria says, “you’re just a little red. Part two of help requires you look a little less like you’ve been crying.”

 

“What’s part two?” Carol whispers.

 

“I put our baby on your lap.”

 

Our. Carol smiles.

 

“I’ve _got my_ baby on my lap.”

 

“Mm,” Maria smirks, settling a hand against the back of Carol’s head.

 

Carol leans in so that Maria can kiss her temple, not prepared for one on the mouth at the moment; she’s surprised when instead, Maria pulls her into her chest to dab at her with her dry shirt.

 

Carol laughs, against Maria’s breasts, tipping forward and pressing her forehead against her sternum.

 

“Stop it,” Maria scolds, “you’re gonna get red again.”

 

She gets off, walking into the house and calling Monica for dinner. Carol stands, catching her dim reflection in the window before following. 

 

Maria points towards the living room, “Put something good on.” 

 

“During dinner?”

 

“Yes,” Maria says.

 

Maria never lets them watch TV during dinner; it’s a rule her mother always enforced and Maria held on to, even when Monica was young and they were both exhausted. Carol thinks it’s sweet Maria really values her family time, so she doesn’t protest.

 

Carol sits on the couch. She’s not sad, per say, but she’s having trouble processing things as she should. Her perception of the world feels distant yet acute, like she’s picking up on all the wrong details. She doesn’t want to be left alone, really, but if she has to formulate coherent sentences, it’s going to be a little much. 

 

This must be why Maria is making an exception.

 

The woman really does know her. 

 

Carol drops that thought, before all Maria’s hard work with the washcloth is undone. She takes the remote, settling on NBC, where an ad is playing. It’s good enough for now, on the chance a sitcom will come on after the break- especially since Monica is definitely going to take control in a minute.

 

The child’s laughter suddenly rings through the house, cutting through Carol’s haze. 

 

After a moment, Maria enters, impressively hefting a giggling 11 year old. She drops her into Carol’s lap, winking, and leaves to bring them their food. 

 

“What?” Monica says, still laughing breathlessly as she wriggles around sideways in Carol’s lap, “We really get to eat dinner on the couch tonight?”

 

Carol doesn’t answer. She holds Monica, gently, arms ghosting around her so she has something to grab onto if she needs help sitting properly. 

 

Normally, she might push Monica down a little, or pull her legs higher so she’s upside-down, but something in her doesn’t like that joke right now.

 

Monica pulls herself up and sits against Carol’s chest, her loose hair tickling Carol’s face.

 

She savors the moment, wraps her arms around her daughters waist, brings her knees higher to crush Monica into a tight hug.

 

“Welcome back, Auntie Carol,” Monica says, warmly, “How was it?”

 

“It was fine baby,” Carol says, softly.

 

“You sound like mom,” Monica laughs, “when you call me baby...”

 

“Lieutenant Baby?”

 

“Noooo,” Monica whines; she’s laughing, but her tone suggests Carol should not ever use the nickname again.

 

The ads have stopped, revealing an episode of JAG; Monica takes the remote, quickly flipping through their options. She slides off Carol’s lap as her mother enters the room, bowls in hand. She’s double-stacked them into a larger, flatter bowl so they’re not hot and less likely to spill. 

 

Carol breathes in the scent slowly, savoring it. It’s one of her favorite dishes, rice in a saffron-flavored yellow fish broth; it’s just the right amount of spicy, and Maria makes it fucking delicious. She must have cooked it with Carol in mind, knowing she may need as much good as she could get tonight.

 

Maria sets a wide sauté pan in Monica’s lap as she returns with her own food, a third layer for the young girl against sloshing; it’s an old trick they’d use to set spillable items down on soft surfaces like couches or beds. It works a little less well against Monica’s shifting legs, but it’s something.

 

Once settled, Monica leans her weight into Carol’s side. Admittedly, Carol’s lost an arm to the cuddle, but she doesn’t mind. She passes her other hand her spoon, sets the bowl in her lap, and takes a bite of rice as carefully as she can. It’s excellent.

 

“Do not spill this very staining soup,” Maria warns, sitting to her other side slowly.

 

She leaves Carol’s other arm free, upper body pivoted away, but half of her thigh touching Carol’s.

 

“Yes ma’am,” Carol says, lifting the inner bowl to drink from it directly. It’s still fucking excellent.

 

Carol smiles, relaxing. Her scattered focus settles on the girls beside her, as she sits silently beside them and eats chest-warming, delicious food, reveling in the genuine love of her real family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I've loved the comments you've left so far; so if you have time, they mean a lot. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My power is out but I'm bored and really hoping I can add a chapter from my phone without it looking wack. 
> 
> Chapter summary: Christmas approaches in the Rambeau-Danvers household  
> Chapter warnings: none
> 
> I allude to Maria's family members here and gave them names; it's entirely possible the names I've been calling them in my head came from a few of the probably hundreds of Danbeau fics I've read, so if you think it came from your story, ayy... whoops! 
> 
> On that note, if anyone likes anything I wrote about, and wants to nick it for their own fic, not only will I not mind, but I will probably eventually read it (I am an avid reader, and check the tag regularly), and will probably also greatly enjoy it.
> 
> Last comment- there was amount of debate and planning that went into my deciding if they use an attic or if Monica standing outside with Carol's coat when the Skrull simmed Maria means they keep their crap in the shed. Conclusion: they keep their crap in the shed.

Carol pries open the door to the outbuilding, to the right of the one to their computer room. She’d last been in here months ago, to move her belongings out. 

 

Carol had found it unspeakably touching that they’d kept all of her things, and the act of having her own clothing and being able to keep it in Maria’s room was a gesture that the amnesiac really needed to feel grounded.

 

Her coat, along with everything else, was originally stored here- unlike the first box Monica had brought out, which had come from her own closet, little pictures and things she touched more frequently, when she was thinking of her lost parent.

 

Carol feels so lucky to have that little girl in her life. She’d never thought she could have anything like this, she remembers, young and gay and repulsed by the thought of aqcuiring any kids the usual way. Her plan was to coast by single, spending as much time with her closest friend as she could before the woman got her own life. Instead, miraculously, the life Maria chose to have was with _her,_ sharing her home, again, and her child, and her love.

 

She wants to do right by them, Carol thinks, and the first step for that today is to finally set up those damn Christmas decorations like poor Monica’s been wanting for ages.

 

Carol had gone to space for two weeks, a week before Thanksgiving, missing not only the dinner itself, but all of Monica’s time off school and the normal day that they allot to set up the tree. Monica had insisted on waiting until she was back, only to get her next two weekends taken by Maria’s parents' plans and then Carol’s visit to her family and subsequent low mood.

 

Now that she’s back on her feet and Monica’s officially started her winter break, Carol’s ready to give her little girl the family day she’s been waiting for.

 

Most of the remaining boxes seem to be what she’s after. They vary in size and look, but Maria’s handwriting clearly labels 6 of them, "XMAS".

 

She also picks out the large, wrapped item from against the wall that can only be the plastic tree; Carol lifts it easily, but notes that it’s pretty heavy. She wonders how Maria managed alone, while she was gone all those years.

 

Carol pictures her hefting the tree, her triceps bulging below rolled up sleeves, her soft hands splayed out against the wide surface of the wrapping the tree’s rolled up in. She’d do something smart, Carol thinks, like lift it onto one of the carts she keeps by the plane to wheel it inside, but it’d still take some muscle to get it on there and set it up without another adult.

 

God, Carol thinks, her girl is so hot. 

 

“You want a hand?” Maria asks, looking over her shoulder as Carol enters the house. 

 

“From you?” Carol says, “Absolutely.”

 

She looks at Carol in that way she often does, like she wants to acknowledge that Carol’s up to something and she knows it. Yon-Rogg had a similar look for her, but it wasn’t so loving; it made her feel like she was in trouble, whereas Maria always makes her feel like she’s won the lottery.

 

Maria’s stirring her prepared coffee at the counter, hair still wrapped from sleeping, pajama top open to a plain purple t-shirt; on her feet, she’s got on a thick pair of boots that she’s tucked her pajama pants into, antithetical  to the rest of her outfit. She must have predicted Carol’s plans to have all the boxes ready in the living room for when Monica woke up. She knows better than to set it up for her; Monica doesn’t just want the house decorated, Monica wants to decorate the house with her family.

 

Carol sets the tree down in the living room, smiling to herself as Maria enters behind her. Coffee is put into her hands as she turns; she takes it with her full palm, not aiming for a cooler area like she would if she were a regular human.

 

“Thank you,” Carol says, then whispers, “do you know I find you very sexy?”

 

“Uh huh?” Maria deadpans, eyes crinkled.

 

“Not just for the coffee,” Carol insists, taking a sip. “Wanna help me move some boxes?”

 

Maria takes a long drink of her own before setting it down and taking Carol’s arm. She huddles close as they walk outside; Carol warms herself further, and flexes her muscles under Maria’s hands. She laughs, picking up on what Carol’s doing.

 

Carol stacks three of the boxes on top of each other, settling them in an order she thinks won’t lead to any being crushed.

 

“Alright, Superman,” Maria teases, “you’d better keep that balanced, though; I think you’ve got the ornaments on top.”

 

“Wonder Woman,” Carol retorts.

 

“Ah,” Maria says, “she remembers Wonder Woman; of course.”

 

Carol stares at Maria’s arms as she stacks two boxes and then lifts them. Disappointingly, her pajama sleeves are blocking any views of her muscles.

 

They bring the first set inside, Maria putting her own down to open the door, taking the ornaments from the top so they don’t clip the doorframe. Setting these down, they return again.

 

As the door to the storage area of the shed shuts behind them, Maria swings around to face her, stepping in until their hips are touching, and leans heavily into her, tucking her hands under Carol’s arms to clasp at her lower back. Carol hugs back, wrapping her arms around Maria’s shoulders, and buries her face in Maria’s neck. She smells like _Maria_ , but with a hint of fresh laundry from her clean pajamas, and oranges, from her new body wash. 

 

“Mm,” Maria hums, taking in Carol’s warmth in the cold room.

 

She holds Carol’s head still with one hand and presses a lingering kiss to her temple. Carol reciprocates with one to her neck, making her way up slowly so Maria doesn’t feel a sudden loss of warmth. She gets one more to her jaw before Maria takes her face in both hands, pressing her lips to Carol’s own.

 

They kiss like this for a few minutes, both of Carol’s arms around Maria’s neck, her back pressed to the cool door. Every time Maria pauses to breathe and rests her forehead against Carol’s for a second, she melts a little more.

 

It’s slow, casual, not particularly passionate or calculated, just the two of them taking a moment for themselves.

 

Carol takes her arms down from Maria’s neck, leaning forward to communicate continuation of their kissing, and slides hot hands into the back waistband of Maria's pants, warming the curve between her lower back and her ass. Maria moans appreciatively against Carol’s mouth, pressing her forehead into Carol’s cheek and eye, as Carol moves her hands gently into Maria’s shirt, careful not to pull it up and offset the effect by letting the cold air in.

 

She slowly brings them around to the front, resting both palms over the slightly more raised area at the bottom of Maria’s belly, below her belly button, fingers splayed over her stomach. Maria hisses into Carol’s ear and slides her hands down, cupping her ass and pulling their hips closer together.

 

Pleasure immediately spikes through Carol’s body at the contact. She nudges Maria’s ankle with her foot in an attempt to sate the feeling, shifting so the taller woman’s thigh is between her hips. Maria takes the hint, bringing her leg up to add pressure, before leaning forward to take it away again.

 

Carol moves her hands to Maria’s back once more, grinding a little less subtly against Maria’s leg, trading the favor by sucking gently under Maria’s jaw.

 

They make out like teenagers in their storage room for several more minutes, coffees growing cold inside, before they finally let up, Carol giggling softly into Maria’s shaking chest.

 

“I love you,” Carol mumbles.

 

"Ugh," Maria says, lovingly, shaking her head affectionately, "ugh... me too."

 

“Okay,” Carol laughs, picking up the last box, “this it?”

 

Maria digs around, fishing out another plastic bag, with several wreaths stuffed into it. She glances around for anything they might have missed.

 

Maria pauses, gaze fixed into the corner of the room. 

 

“Monica used to go through your things every Christmas,” she says quietly, “we’d come in here to get the decorations, and she’d always end up rifling through some of your boxes. That’s how she got that red Air Force shirt; we hadn’t originally kept it out, she took it last Christmas.”

 

Carol stares at her partner silently, throat tightening. Maria, hiding her watery eyes, doesn’t see Carol’s own. 

 

“I was so worried at first,” Maria continues, “that she’d forget all about you- she was barely 5 when you...”

 

“I’m glad she remembered me,” Carol says, “thank you for letting her.”

 

“I didn’t want to forget you either,” Maria whispers.

 

Carol doesn’t respond, silent tears splashing onto the box in her hands. She thinks Maria probably should have let her go, given her things away, stopped holding onto a woman she couldn’t even tell others- even Monica- about. She’s so glad she didn’t, and that their little girl loves her like she was never gone.

 

Head bowed, Carol watches the beads sink into the worn cardboard, blinking to dislodge those clouding her vision. Maria sniffs, holding the oddly-shaped bag under one arm, and wipes her face with the back of her hand.

 

She walks over, tilting Carol’s head back up, and kisses her once more. 

 

“Let’s get these inside.”

 

\---

 

Monica’s downstairs only an hour after they’ve been up, still young enough to be on an early sleep schedule. 

 

She enters the kitchen just as Carol’s finishing her bowl of fruit loops. She pours the small, remaining amount of milk into her freshly-filled coffee mug, and sees Maria crinkle her nose in disgust, sticking out her tongue.

 

Monica greets Carol with a kiss on the cheek and her mother with a quick hug, because she’s a polite and loving little girl who knows it’s what Maria expects of her- and likes to do it anyway. Carol wonders if the hugs and kisses are gonna stop when she's a teenager, shuffling into the kitchen at noon. She smiles, taking a sip of her loops-flavored coffee; as sad as it was missing years of Monica’s young life, there’s something fun about the idea of raising a teenager. She should try and be positive about the things she can’t change, anyway.

 

Monica slides into the seat Maria recently vacated, carefully setting down her own bowl of fruit loops. She's wearing a Christmas-themed pair of pajamas with a reindeer on the front; they're too small, exposing her wrists and ankles, from a year of Monica's growth.  

 

“You can have the rest of my milk when I’m done, if you want, Auntie Carol.”

 

“Drink it after,” Maria says, “it’s good for you,” she grimaces at Carol again, “so weird in coffee, though.”

 

“It wasn’t sweet enough," Carol shrugs, smiling.

 

She gently kicks Monica under the table, asking if she’s excited to finally be on break.

 

"Yeah!" Monica says, "I'm glad you're home."

 

Carol smiles, feeling guilty, "Me too, Lieutenant Trouble."

 

They talk about plans for her break. Maria suggests ice skating at the hockey rink the next town over; Monica wants to show Carol the Peanuts Christmas movie, since she doesn't remember; Maria reminds them that her brother and his wife and new daughter will be in town before New Years, garnering genuine excitement from both Monica, who wants to hold a baby, and Carol, who has enough memories of Dion to want to see him again.

 

Carol waits for Monica to finish her fruit loops before casually heading into the living room, certain she'll be followed. 

 

Monica steps into the room, turning her quick steps into an excited hop as she takes in the sight of the boxes around her. She runs over to a plastic one, wrenching the top off and fishing out a Santa hat, which she throws to Carol, before putting a pair of antlers on her head.

 

"I'll find you one next, Mom," Monica promises, digging around in the box, "I know we have another hat."

 

"No rush, baby," Maria says, leaning against the doorframe, which Carol translates to mean, 'I'm good.'

 

"Come on, Lieutenant," Carol instructs, picking up the wrapped tree and wrestling the cover off, "let's get going."

 

Maria helps her figure out the tree, a reasonably tall plastic thing with little lights conveniently embedded into it. 

 

Monica carefully places candy canes at varying distances all around it, telling Carol off when she puts two of them too close together.

 

Next are the ornaments. Below the candy canes in the box sits a variety of little items, ranging from toy airplanes, to glass balls filled with sand, to little reindeer plushes. 

 

Monica takes each out individually, telling Carol about their significance before placing them on the tree, or handing them to one of her taller parents. 

 

"The plane is 'cause you guys were in the AirForce, of course- Mom says it's a PC-9; this boot is a souvenir from when Mom and I drove to Texas; this one's a picture of the 3 of us!; this one we got from Grandma's house, it's got Mom's name on it, Uncle Dion has one too; we didn't have any like that from your house so Mom bought me two more little reindeer ornaments and I wrote my name on this one and your name on this one; oh I like that one it has sand in it it's so cool! Mom says you guys got it in California one time when you drove to the beach; this one is just a sheep that I won out of a machine but it has a little keychain and I don't have any keys so I put it on the tree; this one is just pretty,"

 

She goes on for all of them, a story for each. 

 

Carol feels like she did when Monica was going through her box of memories with her and Fury; no wonder she wanted to wait until Carol was home to set up. She gently turns one of the reindeer, stroking her thumb over a younger Monica's childish handwriting. 

 

She lifts Monica when she's done, allowing her to place the angel on top. She pulls the girl to her before putting her down, giving her a tight hug and rocking her side-to-side. 

 

"We should hang up the stockings next," Monica says, smile wide. 

 

There's several, a variety of different styles obviously bought from different sellers; their 3 stockings are nicely embroidered with winter scenes, the likes of which don't resemble Louisiana at all. The rest are colorful stockings with various colors and decorations. The stockings read: Maria, Monica, Carol, Lynne, Henry, Dion, Bridget... Maria, her daughter, partner, parents, little brother, and sister in-law. They're Carol's family too, she thinks. Except Dion's wife, she supposes; pretty sure she's never met the woman. 

 

"We have some for Mom's family," Monica explains, "for when they come over... oh! We have to get one for baby Elsie... can we do that today, too?"

 

"Sure baby Monica," Carol says. 

 

She smiles, excited, and tickled at the nickname. They hang all the stockings, leaving space for a 7th. 

 

Carol thinks to her childhood Christmases, as she winds garland around the stair railing. Life at home wasn't bad all the time, she thinks, and remembers enjoying the holiday even then. They got snow in Massachusetts most years, even on the beach, though rarely right on Christmas. Her mom bought all the presents, which was the only reason Carol ever got anything she liked; she allowed for Carol's tomboyish nature a lot more than her father did, and if he wanted to complain, he'd have to actually shop for her. She still received little dresses and things that she was made to wear, but also racecars and, when it came out, early Star Wars merch like trading cards and board games. She thinks her oldest brother, Steve, might have helped with some of the better gifts. 

 

The house looks good with all the decorations up. They've not hung any lights, so the only ones are those fixed into their tree, but there's a wreath on every external door, garland hung on the stairs, candy canes- years old she's sure, good for decoration, not consumption- hung wherever Monica felt like putting them, and little reindeer and nutcracker toys placed on the occasional tabletop or counter. 

 

They go out, in search of a stocking for Monica's first cousin, and end up in a little local store where they'll embroider their limited supply Christmas stockings themselves. Monica picks out a small stocking with elephants and lions, telling them it's just the thing a little baby would love. Maria suggests that they think a little more long-term; Elsie won't be a baby forever, and they may want something a little more long-lasting. 

 

Monica takes her suggestion seriously, and finds a nice blue one with snow covered trees and a happy little snowman; she brings it up to the counter, politely spelling "Elsie" for the store owner.

 

They stop by the grocery store on the way home, to pick up ingredients for dinner. Monica, now that she's got them in the holiday spirit, convinces her parents to buy ginger cookies and candies. Maria slips some eggnog in the cart as well. 

 

Carol cooks when they get home, alone in the kitchen while Monica lays down in her room after the long and exciting day, and Maria reads in the living room.  

 

She _prefers_ to cook with one of her girls sat up on the counter beside her, but she's pretty happy with the long day that they've had together, so she has no real complaints. 

 

She turns on the radio to a good rock station, singing along to herself as she prepares their meal. It's some cheap ribeye, cooked hot and fast with pepper and cayenne, before going in the oven to sit. For the sides she pours the additional meat juice in with some soft green beans and throws in whatever she feels like from their spice cabinet to make it taste good- and also taste less like green beans, for her own preferences.  Some shell noodles boil on the corner of the stove, ready to pair with the white sauce she's stirring periodically. 

 

Everything finishes around the same time; the steak beeps early, but she's heard it retains more of its juices if you let it sit for a few minutes anyway, so she drops it on a large plate and turns a bowl over to trap the heat in.

 

Carol wipes her fingers on the dish towel she's got flung over one shoulder, and wanders into the dining room to set the table. 

 

She calls for her family before turning up the music so they can hear it while they eat, and sets the food onto the plate coasters she's laid in the middle of the table. 

 

She notes that their salt and pepper shakers have been replaced by cute little ones of Mr and Mrs Clause. She shakes one. It's empty. _Most of the way there, Mon,_ Carol thinks.

 

\--

 

Talos calls her, panicked, three days before Christmas. 

 

They've had a good week, with Monica off school, Maria without any imminent work assignments, Carol feeling good enough about her regular check-ins with the Skrulls to not worry.

 

It's morning when she gets the call. She's sitting at the third chair they've placed at the little table in the kitchen, Monica and Maria on either side of her, when the pager on her hip goes off. She'd bought it to act as a receiver, cloning alerts from her suit while she is in her civvies. 

 

Carol takes off from the table, dashing upstairs to where her suit is folded neatly in a shoebox. Maria didn't want it hanging up with their clothes and jackets, doubtful about its level of cleanliness. 

 

She tears the lid off, pulling out the flashing and pinging arm of the suit, and answers the call. 

 

"Captain! Captain, thank you," Talos says, clearly frazzled, "you have to come as soon as possible; there's something attacking us. We've got the jump point guarded, and all the usual routes, but-"

 

"Talos. Where are you?"

 

"On Tarnax! It's not the Kree, I don't-"

 

A keening howl cuts the air, and the lighting in the room shifts, flashing bright then dark, obscuring Carol's vision of her friend. The call ends. 

 

Carol pulls off her shirt, sliding her jeans down to her ankles and stepping quickly out of them, leaving them on the floor. She pulls her suit on over her underwear, and spins to tear out of the room.

 

Monica is standing in the doorway, looking hurt. 

 

"Sorry," Carol says, no time to prove it, before she pushes her way past and throws herself down the stairs, out the door, and into space. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to call it there, as it was getting a bit long, but I have the next couple chapters planned out pretty well, and I've started on the next. 
> 
> I keep planning other things that want to happen that are set in my fic universe but are too far in the future, so I may be posting more separate stories at some point, inbetween chapters of this. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all the lovely comments! I also really like when I read and comment on fic and the author replies that they like my story too, lol. It's happened at least a couple times now. I appreciate all of you who are writing fic as well. I've had a little less time to read lately, so I'm up to 80 tabs open on my phone... oops! 
> 
> If you have the time to leave a review below, it really does make the time I've put into this fic feel so worthwhile!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Summary: Carol heads to space to help Talos  
> Chapter Warnings: non-graphic descriptions of injury and death; implied/reference child abuse (separate from the other warning)
> 
> This chapter is a lot of action-space-comic-whatever, but we will go back to the domestic content soon. I don't actively write much of her superhero time, and won't probably, in this fic, but Carol is Captain Marvel, so she pops away to do this every so often. Now is one such time.

Carol goes through the jump point without her spaceship. 

 

It's parked, cloaked, somewhere in orbit around earth, but the Skrulls are dying and she doesn't have time to look for it. She flies faster than it can, anyway.   

 

She had attached the jump disk to her suit ages ago, as a back-up in case she was a situation where she could either escape or die. She's been fairly sure she can make the jumps without a ship- she has sufficient propulsion- but she's not been stupid enough to try without a good reason.  

 

She makes it through the first jump fine and pushes through four more in quick succession, popping out in front of several armed ships which guard this corner of the galaxy. They're not manned by the Skrulls specifically, but a joint collection of soldiers and guards interested in keeping peace in their home solar system, including the planet Tarnax, where the Skrulls have settled.

 

There's a bright light as several safety features flick on, but they dim as the scanners read her energy signature and recognize the arrival of their ally, Captain Marvel. 

 

She takes off towards Tarnax, still expecting to see a battalion of Kree ships, around the planet and leading up to it, despite Talos' insistence otherwise. 

 

It's quiet, on the way. Some ships are leaving the area, others heading in their direction, presumably to help. She passes them all, rocketing towards her endangered friends. 

 

When she arrives, what feels like ages after she left home- left Monica upset, left Maria to fix it, but there's not even room in her panicked brain to feel bad about that right now, after Talos' call- the small planet is surrounded in a dark fog. 

 

It could be  _ concealing  _ Kree ships, she thinks, but it doesn't seem like it. It's sort of like a planet-wide storm has covered her allies, and she's fairly sure the Kree cannot do anything like that. Also, judging by the normal state of the guards by the jump point, this thing did not come through there. 

 

Carol approaches as slowly as her pounding heart will allow. She expects tendrils of smoke or errant gas to be drifting off of this thing, but it does seem, as far as she can tell, atmospherically sealed around the planet. 

 

Carol flies towards the fog, wondering if it’s toxic. She'd like to take a deep breath and dive right in, but of course there's no air out here, so she continues to clamp down on the natural instinct to breathe, drawing life force from the energy coursing through her body. The Kree have an immunity to most toxins, which she's fairly sure comes from their famously sanative blood, so she's probably safer than anyone below anyway. 

 

The fog is dark, but crackles internally with sparks of light like a thunderstorm. Her body flickers as she absorbs the heat generated from entry, passively pulling in some of the electricity around her as well. 

 

She emerges from the other side very suddenly, scanning for life. A light below stands out in notable comparison to the darkness all around. This is not the area where the Skrulls have primarily inhabited, instead home to other refugees, but they're people too and they're in danger like everybody else, so Carol drops down. 

 

The small city is quiet, everyone having barricaded themselves inside as a precautionary measure. A planet full of refugees like this has some strict procedures in place around danger, and everyone seems to be following them to the letter. 

 

The lights are off, and the tall buildings block her view of the illumination she’d followed to the surface, leaving Carol in darkness that she breaks with a beam from her suit's wrist. From what little she can see of the buildings, they resemble those that the Skrulls have in their settlement- similar to Earth's, but those made of bricks bluer in color, from the clay here. The architecture varies a lot more primarily at the edges, which round out in most designs. 

 

She turns the corner and spots the blazing light from the fire of a demolished building, which several local militia ships surround. 

 

Carol dashes forward, glowing to announce her familiar presence. Several anxious soldiers point guns at her, anyway.  

 

"Survivors?"

 

A tall man, with large, armored horns protruding from his helmet, shakes his head, "I hope not."

 

"What?"

 

"Several of those creatures went in there," another soldier says, "we blew the building to kill them."

 

"Were there people inside?" Carol demands, flaring brighter; she steps onto the rubble, taking the fire licking at her for fuel as she pulls a heavy piece of concrete into the air. 

 

"They were dead anyway, if those got in," the first man barks, "stop what you're doing!"  

 

Carol ignores him, moving more rubble out of the way. 

 

The building wasn't terribly large, but she knows it's still pretty hopeless, looking for survivors. It's not only completely demolished, but also on fire. She’s seen the the impact of bombs here, thrown with temporary forcefields around them to contain the blast. The chance that anyone is still alive under here is extremely slim. 

 

Carol grimaces as she identifies what was once an arm. She hopes there weren't many people in here.  

 

"What were you trying to kill?" Carol asks, pissed. 

 

"There are creatures attacking us, Captain."

 

"They showed up with this storm," another adds, pointing at the sky. 

 

"They got into four buildings in the city so far and slaughtered everyone inside, as well as one of our ships."

 

"So instead  _ you _ decided to slaughter everyone inside?" Carol says. 

 

"We were- we were containing it."

 

She knows should spend this time solving the bigger problem, not digging for a few corpses.

 

Carol steps out of the fire, calling Talos once more. Harsh static answers her. 

 

"Comms aren't working very well," a soldier tells her. 

 

"Great."

 

Carol sighs deeply, an aggravated growl that causes a couple soldiers to step back. 

 

"You know where any other creatures are?"

 

They indicate that they do not.

 

Carol leaves them to whatever they're doing, hoping they stay in that area long enough to not bomb anyone else. She will deal with that problem later. 

 

Honestly, she's not sure what she's supposed to do about a planet full of creatures. She can take out battleships fine, but this one-on-one fight seems like a different skillset than hers. 

 

Unsure where to start, she flies for Talos, desperate to know if he is okay, and hoping for some Intel. 

 

Carol leaves a sharp boom in her wake as she breaks the sound barrier, quickly traveling to the city Talos lives. It's not a terribly large planet, and she'd entered the atmosphere close to him, so the flight takes her no more than 20 minutes. 

 

Still, she thinks, as she lands again, she has been doing little else but burn energy traveling since she left Earth, and with no sunlight above to even slowly replenish her reserves, she needs to be careful how much power she expends. 

 

"Captain," a familiar voice calls, respectfully. 

 

She and Talos are close enough to call each other by their first names, but in most situations, he ignores her request to do so. 

 

Carol hits the ground hard and fast, skipping off of it tens of yards with quick steps before slowing into a trot slow enough to tackle Talos into a hug. 

 

He hugs her back quickly with one arm, pulling away and nodding in greeting, knocking his forehead lightly against hers. It's a familiar gesture she knows means a lot to their kind. 

 

"Thank you for coming,"

 

"Fill me in," Carol says, "what are those creatures?"

 

Talos shakes his head, eyes wide. His suit is splattered with dried purple blood that does not appear to be his own, and a gash runs over his eye, more blood caked into the lines of his face. 

 

"I've no fucking idea," he says, "I can't sim them."

 

"You can't?" 

 

"I can... shapeshift, if you want to see what they look like, but just from memory," Talos tells her, “but simming is more than that, it's DNA, surface thoughts... I can't get that from these creatures. It's like, when I try, what I'm trying to copy is far larger than what I'm seeing."

 

"Okay, cool..." Carol says, rubbing her knuckles across her eyebrow, "Why don't you shapeshift for me, at least, so I know what to look for?"

 

Talos shifts, contorting into a black, hunched mass. His hands stretch to form large, jagged claws, and his whole head disappears into his body, devoid of any features that may resemble eyes or a mouth. She's not sure if it's because Talos couldn't see where they were when the creature was attacking, or because it truly doesn't have any. 

 

"That's sick, man," she tells him. 

 

He shifts back, gesturing with a transforming arm for her to follow him inside. 

 

"We killed a couple of them," Talos says, once he has a mouth, "but they just disappeared. They were coming from the sky."

 

"Casualties?"

 

Talos looks down at the blood on his chest, stricken. 

 

"Soren? Kalae?"

 

"My family is okay," Talos assures her, "thank you."

 

"Let's keep them that way.”

 

The building they've entered, Talos' makeshift political headquarters, is trashed. Desks have been flipped and shredded with the same large, skittering claw marks scoring the floor. The walls are littered with errant blasts from the Skrulls' weapons, and many dead Skrulls lay on the floor, deep gouges on their bodies at best, dismemberment at worst. 

 

Soren is sitting perched on one of the overturned desks, jumping to her feet as Carol enters to clumsily headbut her in greeting. 

 

"Do we know what they're after?" Soren asks, holding Carol's elbows. 

 

"I just got here," she says, "but, uh, that's a great question, huh?"

 

Carol looks to the bodies again. They're dead, but nothing seems to have tried to eat them or suck anything from them, like one might expect from a mindless creature. Their guns are gone, but as Carol points this out, Talos assures her they merely took them from the bodies themselves to arm others. 

 

A low howl echoes through the building- one of the Skrull trying to alert them to danger.. 

 

Talos dashes towards the front door. Carol watches, coming up behind him, as a blob of atmosphere drops out of the sky, impacting with the concrete and curling across it like smoke, before reforming into two creatures, similar to what Talos replicated. 

 

They’re hunched black shapes, with no discernable features. 

 

They rush the group. 

 

Carol throws herself in front, firing a photon blast. The creature runs through it like it's nothing, and the strike breaks the pavement behind it. 

 

Carol hesitates, long enough for it to jump onto her. She only wonders if this one is insubstantial for a moment, before hot claws rake across her chest and neck.

 

She yells, in surprise, grabbing at it with two hands to push it away from her. She holds it aloft only for a moment before it shifts again, falling like smoke through her fingertips, and drops onto the ground. Just as it gathers to attack her once more, Soren catches it out of the air with a shapeshifted arm, stabbing its face with a heavy mace. 

 

Talos wrestles with the other on the floor, transforming constantly to evade its strikes and better fight it. Carol fires again, shot high so she won't hit him. 

 

The creature, solid from fighting her friend, takes the hit. Part of its head disappears into smoke which does not reform, and it scrambles off him, skittering around on the floor before patching itself into a smaller version of the same being. 

 

Soren yells as the creature she’s fighting digs sharp claws into her leg and Carol turns, tackling the beast in a hug and super-heating her body. It screams as it disintegrates, and Carol holds her breath, wary that it might reform in her lungs or some crazy shit like that. She’s made a habit of preparing for crazy shit, out here in the universe.

 

She shoots at the remaining one, hitting air once more, and tracks its movements, waiting for it to strike at them again before blasting it to nothing. 

 

Soren lets out a relieved sigh, hand pressed shakily to her leg. Talos comes over, concerned, and kneels by his partner, checking the wound. 

 

"The fuck was that??" Carol asks. 

 

"That's what we'd like to know," Talos says, picking Soren up to carry her inside. 

 

"It came from the sky," Carol says, "I'm gonna check it out."

 

"The whole sky?" 

 

"Like... some of it? I don't know, you got a better idea?"

 

"What if the sky turns to knives while you're in it?" Soren asks, reasonably. 

 

Carol frowns, bringing two fingers up to the claw marks on her neck. They're not too deep, but they sting. Her suit is a little shredded where they struck as well, but it protected her body. 

 

"I'll... deal," Carol says, tentatively, "gotta do what I can to protect your families, alright?"

 

"I'm coming," Talos insists, "I'll get a jet."

 

Carol shakes her head, "Stay here and protect your people; I'll scout, for now, and tell you what I find."

 

She lifts herself into the air, scanning the darkness all around for any signs of a good place to start. Not seeing anything, Carol lifts into the sky, shooting quickly towards the fog.

 

She was able to kill them only while they were solid, so she's hoping if she heats up a bit, any attempts for them to solidify enough to hurt her will hurt them more. Otherwise, she supposes, they will probably just murder her. 

 

As when she entered, the fog is silent, flickering purple static illuminating its depths.  She pulls from the electricity around her, taking its energy as her own. 

 

That's when the stabbing starts. 

 

The fog, which she only realizes is keeping its distance from her once it starts to shift and solidify, suddenly pulls back even further, forming large spikes to skewer her. 

 

They converge on her as Carol sends what she took from it back, releasing the energy in a hot burst. The spikes disintegrate, but only after one has sliced into her thigh and another has gouged her shoulder. She finds her hands, clutched in front of her stomach, knocking together as the shape disappears, and realizes belatedly that she’d caught one about to impale her through the gut.

 

Carol pants, keeping the heat going strong as a deterrent, and turns, panicked. She feels reasonably distressed about this situation she’s put herself in, surrounded by shapeshifting, variably-corporeal gas. Pain throbs heavily from her shoulder, even through the adrenaline, and she really hopes she’s not bleeding out.

 

Carol  _ reaches  _ for the electricity again. The smoke curls away from her, pulling spikes from its surface once more.

 

As it juts towards her from all sides, Carol fires back, committing to a spot in front of her and shooting a photon blast with two fists, throwing herself towards the opening she’s created. She pulls more electricity from the space around her, pushing it back out just as quickly to keep herself as invulnerable as she can.

 

She flies aimlessly, curving through the smoke, as she hopes to steal as much power as she can from it to protect those on the surface. 

 

She feels disoriented, taking in her surroundings. They’re primarily dark, with flashes of light coming off her own body and more flickering distantly through the cloud. It looks enough like spots in her vision that she’s a little worried she’s passing out.

 

As she tries to focus on the purple glow of the storm’s internal lightning crackles to assure herself she can see properly, Carol notices one general direction is more lit than the others. She aims towards it.

 

Now and then as she flies Carol will suddenly emerge in spaces with no clouds, followed immediately by walls she slams through, or spikes she has to break or evade. The walls are easy enough, but they’re a surprising change of pace, and the spikes have almost got her a couple times. She twirls to avoid one, clipping hard off its wider base. Another slices the side of her leg by her knee, sending her careening to the side. A third she breaks in time, but the pieces nail her in the head as she speeds past. The blood over her brow flicks off her forehead into her hair as she flies, thankfully whipped away from her eyes by the air resistance.

 

The attacks are growing more and more frequent the longer she travels through this endless fog. She’d hoped to weaken it, but instead it feels stronger and stronger the more she goes on; the lighting is more intense too, at least lending her the opportunity to pull from it and replenish her energy.

 

Just as the storm has noticeably gained so many flashes of lightning that it can no longer be reasonably called ‘dark’, the entire scene shifts. Carol pops out into a flashing purple space, shielding her eyes against a large floating creature.

  
It resembles something of a jellyfish or squid, its tentacles plugged into the living storm, pulsing purple light into its depths. It’s at least twice the size of her entire house, and its insides swirl like the storm outside through its translucent gut. 

 

It would be absolutely breathtaking if it wasn’t actively trying to kill her, leaving her angry and in pain. 

 

Carol yells, rocketing towards it, and shoots photon blasts at its center mass. 

 

The creature unplugs an arm, smacking her like a bug. She tumbles through the air, attempting to determine what direction even  _ is _ the opposite direction, and tries to slow her velocity before she finds herself embedded in the storm.

 

She kicks away from the smoke, zig-zagging towards the creature. It removes another tentacle, which she dodges this time, slamming into the belly of the beast. Her fire burns it, she thinks, by the way it twitches. She pulls again from the lightning crackling around its head and arms, feeling it arc away from the creature into her hold. 

 

She pushes harder against its stomach, focusing a great deal of energy into her hands. She feels it start to burn and melt away; it doesn’t feel much like the smoke pouring out of it. The sensation is more like that of the hot glass at tents she used to visit by the beach as a child, dripping like honey on a honeycomb, ready to be moulded into bright, colorful shapes. 

 

It hits her from behind with an arm; its movements are slow, but very heavy, and Carol grunts as her head is slammed hard into the shell in front of her. She doesn’t move her hands, which are fully stuck in now, so it doesn’t do much to dislodge her. She sees an arm swinging towards her from the side, and pushes harder. She worries what will happen if she’s pushed away from this thing while her forearms are lodged into it.

 

Unlike glass, the creature’s belly was not terribly hard to begin with, and as her palms continue to shove through its thick stomach, the entire circle around her fists burns away like paper, leaving no trail behind. Smoke pours out from the hole she’s made, and the electricity inside of it and around her begins to dim. With the loss of its filling, the creature twitches and drops, like a hot air balloon with the lid up.

 

She removes herself from its body, racing towards the ground in case it’s about to drop onto a city.

 

Fortunately, Carol finds, as she gets away from the smoke- now billowing upwards and dissipating- like Earth, Tarnax is mostly water, and the creature plummets harmlessly into the sea below, its shell now translucent and lifeless. The storm has darkened the sky like smoke after a fire. Now that the source is gone, however, it slowly thins with the natural wind.

 

She makes note of her current coordinates and sets off towards Talos once more, clutching her injured shoulder with one hand. She really shouldn’t leave it there, but the bastard seems pretty dead, and she’s not sure she can pick something so cumbersome up with only one arm.

 

Carol flies much slower this time, exhausted. She takes note of the color of the sky as she travels; it’s day here, not that she could tell a bit ago, and the sun is now noticeably shining from the heavens.

 

She lands in front of Skrull HQ about 40 minutes after she’d departed. Carol hears the alert wails of the Skrull, chuckling to herself. They have alarms, she knows; the creatures must have triggered them all, leaving them offline. Skrull soldiers are pouring past her as she approaches. She ignores the snippets of “clear”, and “check”, and “storm”, and “creatures”, leaving them to their investigation of the clearing skies.

 

Carol limps through the front, tipping her head at the two Skrulls posted by the door, heading towards the elevators. She leans against the wall, swiping the button clumsily, and distantly notes that it’s is streaked with blue. She looks at her fingers.

 

The elevator pings to her left, and Carol sluggishly pushes away from the walls. She thinks it’s funny how elevators are mostly the same here as on Earth, but not as much as she enjoys when things are just absurdly different.

 

“Carol?” Talos says, forgoing her title in his distress, stepping out of the elevator she’d summoned.

 

He wraps an arm around her, supporting her uninjured arm under her elbow, and chooses the infirmary floor.

 

“Weren’t you going to come right back?” Talos asks, “What happened to getting reinforcements?”

 

“A lot happened very fast,” Carol defends, “you’re welcome, by the way, I killed a big sky jellyfish.”

 

“What is a jellyfish?”

 

Carol steps away from him as they walk, able to support herself well enough. The infirmary is busy, but she finds an empty table, taking a seat on top of it as she describes first jellyfish to Talos, then- more relevantly- the creature itself.

 

Carol likes the infirmary; it  _ does _ look significantly different from one she’d see on earth. The easy-fix stations, like where she’s sitting now, are mostly the same, albeit a little more technological, but the critical-care pods lining the wall look like something out of a sci-fi movie. They’re standing straight up, a great many currently filled with Skrulls. The pods slow down the rate that injuries kill a person, though neither Carol or Talos understand the exact science. Robots inside work to patch injuries or inject medicine.

 

Carol pulls off her suit, back in the underwear she’d been wearing at home only... Carol pauses. A day ago? Two days? It feels like forever ago, but she’s not slept since she left, so it couldn’t possibly have been that long.

 

Carol’s heart suddenly thrums in her chest, and Talos, holding a device to the crook of her elbow, starts in response to her accelerating heartbeat.

  
“Are you alright...?” He asks, pressing a hand to her forehead, over the gash in her brow, to feel for heat.

 

Carol thrums, excitedly, trying not to get her hopes up too high. Is she done here? So soon. She could leave now, Carol thinks, and get back home in time. She wouldn’t have to break Monica’s heart, miss another Christmas with her family.

  
She tamps down on the urge to immediately hop off the table and fly for home, and lets Talos continue treating her.

  
Soren enters the room, limping slightly, carrying a small bag of blue blood.

 

“Ah good,” Talos says, “set ‘er up. She’s not missing a lot, but it’s probably a good idea.”

 

“Where’d you get that...?” Carol asks, tracking the bloodbag, as Soren sets it up.

 

“Uh,” Talos stammers, “well, you know, we fight a lot of Kree. We may have nicked a few of the dead bodies. We wanted to make sure you weren’t gonna die in our care if you got injured protecting us.”

 

Carol hums, feeling weird about the idea of a transfusion from an unwilling participant, but assured that Talos is telling the truth about them being dead anyway. In her time with the Kree, she learned that some ‘simple’ lifeforms often kidnapped Kree to use as living blood supplies, for their healing properties. Talos, however, has no reason to lie about this, particularly because they  _ would _ end up with dead Kree bodies on their ship from time to time. Also, Carol thinks, there is no way Skrull could possibly be considered a ‘simple’ lifeform, not with all their bodies can do; complex creatures cannot utilize the Kree blood anyway, so it’s really only helpful for her.

 

Talos finishes cleaning her shoulder, spraying it with a type of adhesive bandage that sinks into wounds to slow bleeding. He gestures for her to hunch her shoulder forward a little more and pinches his fingers gently around her large wound before placing a putty over the top. He gently moves her arm back as it hardens, pulling the skin together and holding it in a way that it can naturally heal a lot better. 

 

He starts next on her knee. 

 

“Talos,” Carol says, as Soren places a chip on her arm, “I need a ride back to the jump point. A fast ride, if you can spare one.”

 

“You should rest...” Soren insists, but Talos nods.

 

“I will set that up for you, Captain,” he tells her.

 

He places an order into his comm- now working fine- and finishes treating her knee, while Soren deals with the gash in her thigh, tutting at her to take a break.

 

Carol holds the table tightly with her fingers as they work, trying not to shatter it. She’d have thought that with all this great medical technology, the Skrulls would think to have some local anesthetic.

 

\--

 

Carol mostly sleeps on their way back, assured that they’ll arrive sometime in the middle of the night, hopefully before Monica or Maria wake up.

 

The lights are off as she steps onto her lawn, at last, and Carol’s heart thrums excitedly in her chest, a wide smile breaking out across her face.

 

She ditches her suit by the back door, slipping quietly into the house and making a beeline towards the kitchen. Carol downs several glasses of water and the rest of the cookies they’d bought to leave out for santa. She grabs some beef jerky for something of more substance, and pours herself a glass of milk. Aside from being starving, she’s still fairly tired from the past days’ events. The amount of sleep she’d gotten on the ship was not at all proportional to the amount of time she was awake and active, and Carol’s struggling to get through her snacks without falling asleep at the counter.

 

She puts the glass in the sink, staggering towards the living room in her underwear. 

 

The living room is fuller than the last time she was here, the empty space around the tree filled in with gifts. At least one, by her feet, reads, “Auntie Carol”, in Monica’s neat handwriting.

 

She wants to give her daughter a strong hug and pepper her face with kisses, letting her know she’s home, but ultimately decides to leave the surprise until tomorrow. 

 

Carol sleepily grabs a blanket off the couch, dropping down heavily onto it, staring blearily at the lit tree. It’s hard, balancing all this. 

 

She hopes the Skrulls are truly okay; the threat seemed truly taken care of, but it’s not as if she stayed to make sure.

 

Conversely, even though she’s made it back just in time, she still feels pretty bad about leaving in the first place. She hopes Monica will forgive her. 

 

Carol had often wished when she was younger that her father had been one of those deadbeat dads who abandoned their families. She’d envied those kids in media who lamented their missing parent, thinking how much better it would have been for all of them if he’d just gone away and never come back. He’d not be contributing anything, but at least he’d be harmless.

 

Monica’s father never had the chance to decide how involved he’d be in the kids life, never learning that his one night stand had even produced a child. She’ll give the man the benefit of the doubt that he would have stuck around, but she’s not so selfless to be anything other than very grateful that Maria doesn’t know the man’s last name. She’d felt a bit guilty thinking this way at first, and figures she probably should still feel that way, if she’s honest, even if Maria tells her she’s perfectly happy with the way things worked out.

 

Regardless, the situation is what it is, and Carol knows she has a responsibility to Monica as her second parent. Now that she’s in a situation- out of her control or not- to be an absent one, it doesn’t really feel as harmless as she’d always fantasized as a kid. The six years she was gone were not really her fault, she knows, but she’ll regret them forever, and now that she’s back, she’s liable to be gone again at any time, forever, even, if things go poorly.

 

There’s a sort of healing, she thinks, that she’s gained in her time as a mother. She’d had a bad view of parenthood from her family, but being able to be a better one to her own child has really alleviated some of that trauma. She fears that if she keeps this up, being an unreliable figure in Monica’s life, that the girl will have her own wounds to heal from.

 

Carol falls asleep uneasily, her chest aching more fiercely than any of her injuries. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the finer details of what the jellyfish is hanging, but Talos will follow up on that; it was too much irrelevant info for one chapter, and tbh doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things.
> 
> If you have time, I have very much been appreciating the comments you guys have been leaving!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep writing kinda long chapters... oops!
> 
> Chapter summary: Christmas morning  
> Chapter warnings: none

Maria wakes early, sleeping light as she always does when she knows she has something in the morning.

 

It’s nearly 7AM, she verifies, meaning Monica is letting her _sleep in_ this Christmas. Normally the girl is in her room right at the crack of dawn to open presents, bounding on top of the bed and crawling all over her until she relents and gets out from beneath her warm covers.

 

Maria would like to close her eyes and catch another hour of sleep, but she thinks it’s probably best if she check on her daughter. She climbs out of bed, her soft socks protecting her toes from the cold world outside of the blankets. She’s got on a full set of pajamas that her mother bought her one year for the holiday; they helped to keep her warm in her empty bed last night.

 

Maria raps quietly on Monica’s door, pushing it open after a moment. Monica is cocooned in her covers, the top of her head peeking out. She cracks an eye open, acknowledging her mother, then closes it again, pretending to go immediately back to sleep.

 

“Merry Christmas Monica!” 

 

Monica curls tighter.

 

“Come on, baby...” Maria tries, setting two hands on the side of her body, trying to pinch her through thick blankets, “don’t you wanna see what Santa brought?” 

 

Monica shakes her head.

 

Maria’s been a mother long enough to know that she _does_ want to know what Santa brought, but also that she’s going to sulk for a bit so everyone- only Maria at the moment, but she knows she isn’t the true intended audience, only the messenger- sees that she’s upset.

 

Maria also knows that her daughter understands why Carol left, and that she wouldn’t really want her to leave the Skrulls in danger; regardless, Monica is disappointed, because this sucks. It sucks for everyone involved, really. In addition to her and Monica’s dismay, she knows if Carol is in a good enough situation to even have time to think of them, she’s upset too. 

 

Maria really hopes that’s the case. She feels a pang of guilt that she’s wishing Carol were spending the holiday with them, when she should just hope Carol’s still alive. 

 

“I’ll go see if Santa came last night,” she says, shaking off her thoughts as she feels a frown sliding onto her face.

 

Maria almost walks past the living room. She _knows_ ‘Santa’ came, because she’s the one who put the presents downstairs, so she considers heading straight for the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee.

 

Instead, thankfully, she decides to see how her arrangement of the gifts looks during the day, and peeks a glance at the tree.

 

Carol’s on the couch.

 

Maria bites her tongue, holding back from calling Monica right away as she takes in her partner. 

 

Carol has, most noticeably, a blue-scabbed gash over one eye. She’s as splayed out on the couch as she could be without falling right off of it, limbs either off the edge or pulled up to her chest, and the blanket which she presumably wrapped around her to sleep is only really covering her chest and the cushions. She’s in her underwear, which allows Maria to see the playdough-esque material stuck to her shoulder and knee.

 

Maria steps gingerly over the gifts on the floor, kneeling beside Carol and gently touching the side of her face, under her eye. Closer now, she can see the area surrounding her head injury is bruised. Even fading, it remains blueish, unlike the brown-green marks she’d unfortunately grown accustomed to seeing littered over her friend’s skin once upon a time.

 

Carol flinches only slightly at the contact, but both eyes open immediately, and she shifts so the blanket on her chest covers her even less. Maria takes her hands off of her, holding them up by her shoulders.

 

“Oh,” Carol says, “Merry Christmas.”

 

\--

 

Maria decides they should clean Carol up a little before they get Monica. They don’t have long before she finishes pouting and comes down, so Maria races up the stairs to retrieve Carol’s pajamas and toothbrush, and tells the other woman to go wash her face in the downstairs bathroom. 

 

Carol’s poking at a piece of the playdough- another on her thigh Maria hadn’t seen before- when she comes into the bathroom, having already washed her face. Some of the hair by her face is wet, darker and wavier than the rest.

 

“Leave it alone,” Maria says, unsure specifically what the playdough is, except that she’d bet by the way Carol’s touching it that it’s covering injuries.

 

Carol leaves it alone, collecting the pajamas, and leans in for a kiss. Maria hands her the toothbrush, winking, and kisses her on the cheek, heading upstairs to delay and then collect Monica.

 

Carol brushes her teeth, puts her pajamas on, and retrieves the gifts she’d gotten for the two of them, stashed in the back part of one of their kitchen cabinets. She puts them in the pile and sits on the floor, waiting excitedly.

 

She lets her eyes drift away from the doorframe to the presents on the floor, picking up one with her name on it and juggling it nervously. It’s wrapped with red paper, decorated with snowflakes and little smiling polar bears. There’s a lot of tape on it, and one of the sides has additional strips of wrapping, like not enough was used to cover what’s inside on the first go. Monica’s written “Auntie Carol” directly onto the paper with a black marker, along with a little heart.

 

Carol finally hears two sets of slow footsteps on the stairs. The excitement skittering around her chest grows unbearably, and she almost cannot stop herself from standing up. She puts the gift down, wringing her hands on her lap.

 

She had found herself getting a little sad-deep as she fell asleep, worried Monica would be mad at her, but now that she’s about to see her, she’s nothing but exuberantly happy to actually be home for her first Christmas back.

 

Monica turns the corner, a slight pout on her lips, but clear excitement in her eyes at the prospect of gifts. The expression lasts only for a moment before it falls off her face, replaced with wide eyes and an open mouth.The surprise quickly twists again into a beaming grin, and Monica leaps over the presents in front of Carol, not sparing them a second glance, to tackle her in a hug.

 

Carol catches her, falling backwards onto the floor, and tries not to make a sound as her injured shoulder seriously smarts at the contact. She wraps Monica up in a tight hug, rolling with her so she’s got the girl pinned under the upper half of her body, hunched over her, knees still to the side and on the floor. 

 

Monica giggles, kicking her feet in the air, and Carol pulls mostly away, grinning widely.

 

“You came home!”

 

“I did,” she says, simply, quietly.

 

Carol has always been a little on the stoic side, which everyone takes differently. Her father thought it a challenge, her teachers thought it rude, her peers thought it disinterested, and Monica thinks she’s cool. Maria’s always been the one person in her life who seems to really get her, which is why there’s no use hiding the shine in her eyes as she turns away from Monica to pick up the gift she’d been juggling a moment ago.

 

The moment gives her enough time to swallow past the tightness in her throat and recover enough to speak again.

 

“It was really important to me to be here today,” she says, smiling with closed lips, eyes crinkling warmly.

 

Monica bobs, excitedly, as she spots what Carol is holding.

 

“Oh, that one’s from me!” She explains, “Santa only usually brings presents for kids, sorry.”

 

“That’s okay.”

 

“Wait there,” Monica instructs, jumping to her feet.

 

She kneels beside the CD player plugged in beside the tree, which she’s been using to play Christmas music since they set up the decorations. She swaps out a poppy CD for one Maria’s mother prefers- they’re more religious in meaning, more churchy sounding, but pleasant to listen to- and turns it down so they can easily speak to each other over the sound.

 

Maria sits beside Carol, holding a present with Monica’s name neatly penned on it, as well as one of the white-wrapped, doodled-on gifts Carol had added to the pile before they came down.

 

Maria’s name is written large on it, in big, blocky text and surrounded by hearts. She shakes the gift very lightly to bring it to Carol’s attention before holding it to her chest. 

 

Carol smiles back at her, eyes soft. The early morning light is filtering in through the windows, painting the room in a soft orange glow. It’s brighter than the tree, but the difference in color means the bulbs still stand out quite noticeably.

 

Monica settles back down beside her two parents. The whole scene- with the sunlight highlighting her daughter’s loose hair, and the music filling in the comfortable silence they’ve fallen into- Carol feels at peace.

 

“You can go first, Auntie Carol.”

 

“How about you go first,” Carol suggests, as Maria hands their daughter the other gift, “since it seems like you have a few more to get through than me.”

 

Monica nods, but steals a glance at the white-wrapped present in her mother’s hands, and then under the tree, where one with her own name on it lays. 

 

The first gift is a blue shirt, adorned with bright little beads in the shapes of stars. She smiles, gratefully, but they all know clothes are the most boring of gifts; it’s why Maria hands them out first.

 

Monica’s polite smile remains on her face, growing wider and faker as she continues to stare towards Maria. Carol steals a glance at her partner curiously, just in time for the sudden flash of her digital camera. 

 

“Open another,” Maria instructs, tossing another soft item over.

 

Monica unwraps some pajamas, next. They’re a deep black, with bright yellow stars all over. Carol’s noticing a pattern. 

 

They’re pretty cute, though.

 

“Did y- I get any starry pajamas?” Carol asks, pouting.

 

“Santa doesn’t bring gifts for us,” Maria says, “and I did not get you starry pajamas, no.”

 

Carol turns her pout towards Monica.

 

“What did I do to land on the bad list, huh?”

 

Monica smiles, but shakes her head, too old to giggle along at such a weak joke. Carol chuckles to herself; she’ll have to up her game. 

 

“My turn,” Maria declares, very carefully running her short nails under the edges of the tape on Carol’s present. 

 

It’s wrapped with the large, thick, off-white paper they keep in the computer room, to lay down for messy situations, like when Monica paints. Carol’s drawn hearts all over it in different colors, and written Maria’s name in a cute way that she obviously spent a minute on, blocky upper-case letters with a different color in the middle.

 

They shift impatiently while she unwraps it, but like hell she’s tearing this, so Maria continues to chip away.

 

Eventually, the box inside drops into her hand, bare of its cover. 

 

It’s long, a deep plum color with red hinges on the side. Maria runs her finger curiously over the material, and over the hinges, moving the box around in the light.

 

“Open it, mom!” Monica complains.

 

Maria ignores her, teaching her daughter patience, and asks Carol, “What material is this?”

 

“It’s like leather,” Carol explains, “but it’s made from some purple tree; the metal is red naturally, too.”

 

“So it’s from space?” Monica asks, glancing over at her gift under the tree.

 

“Mm,” Carol hums, “from a planet called Arxha... Or, Arksha. It’s uh, got a sound I don’t know how to make very well.”

 

Maria pops the lid, staring inside. 

 

She’s expecting a necklace, from her experience with similar boxes on earth. 

 

Instead, packed neatly inside is a deep blue cloth. She sets the box on the floor, lifting it delicately out with both hands. The light material unfurls into something unexpectedly larger, and Maria is left holding the softest scarf she has ever touched. Even up to the lit tree, it is completely opaque, though it seems less substantial than paper. Against the navy are light swirls of lighter blue, red, and gold, which catch her eye and almost disappear again as she shifts it around through her fingers.

 

“Oh,” Maria whispers, eyes wide, mouth open.

 

“It was soft,” Carol says, “and pretty, and it’s like silk but even better so you can wear it to sleep at night, or just wear it out or whatever you want.”

 

Maria continues to hold it like it’s going to fall apart, lightly sliding her hands apart so it brushes over her fingertips.

 

“Thank you,” she says, earnestly, “is it fragile?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Carol says, shaking her head, “it’s like a normal scarf- and I can get you another someday anyway, if you want. I saved like four million people there so they like me. It also folds up so small!”

 

“I saw,” Maria laughs, folding it back up gently and placing it on top of the wrapping paper, unable to figure out how they got it in such a tiny box.

 

She inches over to Carol to- hug her, she supposes, so caught up in the thoughtfulness of the gift that she almost kisses her on the mouth right in front of Monica. She puts her fingers under Carol’s jaw anyway, hands already halfway up, and runs her thumbs gently over her cheeks. She settles herself onto her knees and drops her arms around Carol’s neck, leaning into a tight hug in her lap.

 

Carol scoops her up, settling her more properly there, and leaves an arm behind Maria’s back for support. 

 

“My turn,” Carol says, pulling the arm behind Maria’s back around her waist and ripping the paper off the red present, with the little polar bears, and Monica’s handwriting.

 

It’s a book. It’s a _Star Wars_ book... The cover is red, with the series title written in big yellow text; also adorning the front are the faces of Han Solo and Princess Leia, as well as a full-body shot of Luke Skywalker. 

 

“It’s new,” Maria says, “I don’t know if you remember reading any other Star Wars books, but these came out while you were gone.”

 

“Thank you,” she says, honestly, kissing Maria’s temple.

 

“You can read it if you’re ever bored in space!” Monica says.

 

“Volume 2?” Carol reads.

 

Monica smiles, eyes darting back to under the tree.

 

“Oh no, mom,” she says, “you got her the second book?”

 

Maria doesn’t answer; her face is in Carol’s neck.

 

“Guess I’ll just have to guess what happened in the first,” Carol plays along, so Maria doesn’t have to.

 

Monica clambers over to the tree, picking up two more gifts- a suspiciously book-shaped object in the same wrapping, and another one of the six total white-wrapped gifts.

 

She drops the book-shaped present next to Carol and starts unwrapping the paper from her gift. It’s in the same paper as Maria’s, and Monica’s name is written in the girl’s own rainbow gel pens. In addition to her name, Carol’s drawn little multi-colored kitties all over it. 

 

She’s not quite as gentle as Maria was, but leaves most of the wrapping intact, laying it down on top of her shirts.

 

Carol likes that her girls want to save her silly doodles, but it does feel a little like they both think she’s about to disappear again, and they want to hold on to whatever she gives them. She’d love to move into a space where they’re not _quite_ as grateful for her presence, as sweet as it is that they care about her.

 

Maria turns in her lap as Monica tears the paper off, pulling out her camera once more. 

 

Monica receives the mysterious little cube with wide eyes, turning it over in her hands. Maria captures the wonder in her eyes.

 

“Get ready for another,” Carol whispers in Maria’s ear.

 

Maria holds the camera, poised, as Monica prods the 5”-wide item, glancing up curiously. Carol smiles, encouraging her to continue.

 

She slides a thumb over the top, pushes the corners, shakes the cube, tries pulling it apart. It remains a cube- grey, and boring, and metal.

 

Monica holds it in the air with two fingers, giving Carol time to stop her before dropping it on the ground.

 

It bounces, remains a cube.

 

“Auntie Carol...”

 

“Keep going,” Carol laughs, “you’ll figure it out.”

 

“Is it a puzzle?”

 

“I guess it’s a puzzle. Anything’s a puzzle if you don’t have the instruction manual.”

 

Monica touches her thumb to her tongue, wetting it, and runs it across the cube. She shakes it harder. She cups her hands around it, though it’s too large to really fit. 

 

Finally, Monica tap-taps on it, purposefully, as opposed to the poking she was doing before.

 

She drops it on the floor in surprise as the cube receives its signal to act and unfurls into a mass of small pieces of itself before reforming into a small, bug-like creature.

 

Maria snaps the picture.

 

It’s got six arms, splayed out in a circle around the ovular shape in the middle, with no discernable head. The robot clacks around by Monica’s feet, moving a few inches in each direction, orbiting around the spot it was dropped.

 

“Woah!!”

 

She leans forward to pick it back up, and the robot skitters onto her open palms. Monica laughs at the ticklish sensation of its small feet on her hands and wrists.

 

“What’s it do?” Maria asks, twisting around so she’s sitting in between Carol’s legs, her back pressed to her chest.

 

“Just kinda crawls around a limited space,” Carol says, “it’s a kids’ toy.”

 

“It’s so cool!” Monica says, taking her hands apart to drop it onto the floor. The robot does not fall, but topples sideways and regains its hold on the other side of Monica’s hand, stuck like a real bug might be.

 

Monica laughs, in surprise, shaking her hand to dislodge the robot. As it clatters onto the floor, upside-down, its legs flip around to pull itself back up without changing the orientation of its body.

 

Monica tap-taps it again, and the creature shifts and contorts until an innocuous grey cube lay in its place once more.

 

“You may not take it to school,” Maria says.

 

Monica opens the rest of her presents from Santa next, while Maria sits and cuddles on Carol’s lap some more. She’s got a new paint set, some light-up sneakers that she seems reasonably excited about, and a little beads-and-string set she can make bracelets out of. 

 

Carol opens her second Star Wars book, volume 3, and then after some giggling from Monica, receives volume 1 from where the girl’s stashed it. She tells them she’ll bring the books to space next time, and read them in her downtime when she’s not able to come home yet.

 

Maria turns and leans as far back as she can to take Carol’s picture with the set, instructing her to turn her face a little more towards Monica so she can get the uninjured side. Carol throws her hair over her left eye, turning as Maria instructs, and smiles for the photo. Monica leans into frame from the side, throwing up a peace sign.

 

Monica fetches the rest of the presents, four more white-wrapped gifts from Carol, a couple from Maria to Carol, and four more red-wrapped, polar-bear-patterned gifts like the ones her books came in.

 

Monica lays the four polar bear presents beside Carol, and Maria gets fully off of her, pointing her camera in their direction. Carol sits cross-legged, sensing a serious emotion coming from her little girl. Monica’s smiling, so she doesn’t think it’s a bad one, but whatever she is doing seems to be important to her. 

 

“You already opened three of the presents,” Monica explains, “because you grabbed the book before I could get these all out- so those are your presents for 1991, 1992, and 1993... That’s when they came out.”

 

Carol looks down at the four presents before her.

 

“These didn’t all come out the exact years you were gone,” Monica continues, and Carol’s feels a spike of emotion in her chest as she understands what her daughter is doing, “but there’s one here for every Christmas you missed... this one can be 1989, and this one can be 1990, and 1994, and this one can be your present this year.”

 

Carol nods, taking Monica’s head in both of her hands and leaning in to press soft kisses on her forehead.

 

Monica lifts a hand to hold her wrist, touching it affectionately as Carol lets her go.

 

“Thanks Lieutenant,” Carol says, sincerely, and unwraps her gift from 1989, taking the order seriously even though Monica had just decided it at random, as far as she can tell.

 

Her first present is a journal, bound with soft backing and a roller pen, like she used to keep in the late 80s. The cover is adorned with sunflowers. She thinks about writing her recovered memories in here, or her adventures in space.

 

The second is two CDs, which Monica has written, “OLD” and “NEW” on, explaining, “The ‘old’ CD has music you and Mom used to listen to, and the ‘new’ CD has music I like that came out while you were gone!” 

 

The third is a portable CD player, and headphones. Carol smiles to herself as she runs her thumb over the stiff shape of the headphones, excited for Monica to open her own remaining gifts.

 

The final present she unwraps contains a shoebox. Inside are a variety of little items, which Carol takes great care to sift through, eyes growing wide. 

 

There’s some art- several drawings of the three of them together, and one of Carol alone, wearing her brown flight jacket and sunglasses. The drawings were clearly done by a small child, clearly Monica. There’s a photograph of a young Monica wearing Carol’s brown flight jacket; she turns it over, finds the date, “3/20/1990” penned neatly on the back. Another photo, of a similarly-aged Monica sitting on the floor of the living room- this living room, but with no coffee table and only the big couch. She’s holding a couple of pictures in her hands, one of the many boxes in the room settled in front of her, and smiles casually at the camera. This one says “12/16/1989”, meaning it was only about a month after Carol’s accident.

 

The remaining contents are mostly crafts and cute, random photos of Monica ranging from ages 6 to 9, the ages that Carol never got to meet. She caught the tail end of Monica being 10 when she found them again, but unknowingly missed the girl’s 11th birthday before returning to stay after initially having left with the Skrulls. Monica had wished for her to come back safe that birthday, just as she had on her 6th. 

 

Carol wipes the tears from her face with a smile, wondering when she will settle back in her life so much that she is not crying all the damn time. 

 

She looks to Maria, who clearly had a lot to do with this present, and finds her in a similarly wrecked state, holding in her emotions as best she can. 

 

“This one is kind of from Mom,”  Monica says, politely not acknowledging her crying parents, “but all the stuff inside is from me. You seemed really sad when you said you never got to meet me while I was 7, so we found some pictures of me with your stuff. And also just pictures and things I made while you were gone. You can have them.”

 

“Thanks,” Carol says, sincerely, “I love them.”

 

She makes a note to give Monica her flight jacket to keep. It looks better on her.

 

She tackles Monica in another hug, twisting as they fall onto the floor so she doesn’t crush the girl, and rolls around with her held tight in her arms. Monica laughs, and Maria takes pictures.

 

After a couple minutes, Monica puts them back on schedule, encouraging them to finish up so they can eat breakfast.

 

She takes the two remaining gifts from Carol to her, eyes lit up excitedly.

 

The first box contains a set of earrings and a little metal button. Carol helps her clip one on, popping a CD into her own new CD player, and attaches the little button onto the top of it. 

 

She clicks play, and watches Monica’s eyes light up as she registers the sound of the music in her ear, from her earring, with no wire.

 

“What!”

 

“Don’t bring these things _anywhere,_ please,” Carol says, “inside the house only, or Fury will have my ass.”

 

Maria takes several pictures of Monica’s thrilled expression before reaching over to put the other earring on her own ear. Carol grabs the camera, getting some shots of Maria, and hands it over to Monica to take of the two of them. She sneaks a kiss onto Maria’s cheek, testing the limits of what they really are supposed to be doing in front of Monica without the girl growing suspicious.

 

Well, Carol thinks, if she can trust her with alien tech and the secret that she’s a superhero, she can trust her with knowledge that she’s probably had all along about her parents.

 

Carol’s final present to the young girl is a t-shirt, from space.

 

“This one you can wear outside.”

 

Monica laughs, turning over the innocuous item in her hands and studying the creature printed on the front along some white alien text. Carol tells her it’s like a common outdoor animal on the planet she visited, akin to a squirrel, and she wanted her to have a present she knew was special but which she could show other people. It was odd, for sure, but no one would question its technological advancements or assume it came from space just because it made no sense in their cultural context.

 

Monica smiles with the shirt, and Carol throws her hair back over her bruised eye, hiding that side of her face a little behind Monica’s hair, so they can show these photos to Maria’s parents later.

 

Carol’s second gift to Maria is an alien Swiss Army knife. They both used to have one, as teens. If Maria had opted to keep all of Carol’s things upon moving into a much larger space, then Carol would also bet that the small pocketknives are around somewhere as well. Maria had gotten hers from her uncle, and Carol took hers from her late brother Steve’s room, both to remember him by and also, if she’s honest, because she really wanted it.

 

This one is equipped with three knives, a screwdriver that changes shape when you slot it into a divot, a penlight, a lighter, and a strange little piece of metal Carol still can’t determine the use for, much like the little tool in their old pocketknives for getting stones out of horseshoes. 

 

It’s red, because they had several colors and Carol’s nostalgia won out.

 

Her final present to Maria is some assorted jewelry, earrings and bracelets collected from 4 different planets. She doesn’t think any of it is very expensive, but Maria’s never cared about all that anyway.

 

Not that she’d tell Maria, but Carol had been at each of these booths because each time, walking past, the sight of a ring had rooted her feet to the ground and pulled her over. She decided to get Maria something else every time, deciding that it’s probably best that she spend a little more time back in their lives before she lets her mind wander quite so much. 

 

She also avoids buying necklaces; she had bought Maria the one she always has on, back when Monica was born, and the sight of her partner wearing her other favorite person’s name proudly makes her heart melt a little. So necklaces would be useless. 

 

Monica declares her hunger again, and drops the remaining three gifts, from Maria, onto Carol’s lap. 

 

Carol pinches her side as she gets close, before taking the presents and happily tearing into them. There’s some black boots, cool blue flannel, and a new set of blue and red pajama pants.

 

“They’re not from space, or anything,” Maria says, as if she had nothing at all to do with the nice gifts Monica gave her.

 

She knows the whole morning has been reflective of Maria’s care and thoughtfulness, and plans to tell the other woman as much later. For now, she stands, announcing breakfast, and crushes Maria in a tight hug once they’re on their feet.

 

They tag-team the meal preparation. Monica switches out the churchy music for something more popping, cranking it up so they can hear it in the kitchen; Carol and Monica make batter while Maria puts on coffee; Carol cooks the pancakes while Maria makes ham-steaks, and Monica pours her parents their coffees, preparing them the way they like; Maria pours Monica a juice while Carol lays everything on the table, and Monica bounces excitedly around, telling them what presents she liked best and what she’s going to do with each of them.

 

Breakfast is pleasant, and Carol feels like tapping her feet fast against the ground, or pulling her girls in for a hug, or interrupting Monica’s pleasant chatter to acknowledge the overflowing feelings in her chest, being around them. She can’t quite verbalize how she is doing at the moment, so she smiles wide at Maria, and the gentle laugh and foot snaking behind her ankle under the table she receives in response tells her she understands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting so far!! If you have the time, comments are always appreciated!
> 
> The next thing I write may be a one-shot separate Danbeau-fam fic before I go into the next chapter of this story, so keep an eye out. I've got a whole list of things I wanna write, and not all of them fit into the timeline I'm constrained to here, so they'll need to be posted separately.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Sorry for the delay. I've been reading like, all of Carol's comics, and trying to find niche fics for those satisfying the stories that comics should have followed up on better. It's not working. It feels like there are more CarolMaria fics than comics-verse Carol Danvers fics, even when I try to go back to livejournal, despite having been out an insanely smaller amount of time. Proud of you guys. It's good too cause the main problem with comics Carol? She does not have herself a nice wife. (Jess Drew's a pretty good candidate though...)
> 
> Anyway, no fear, I have not abandoned this fic, I just needed to get that out of my system. My brain classified comics Carol as a separate special interest from movie Carol, so my MCU-Carol brain stopped working for a bit. Good news is the overlap is good so I slid right back over to the happier Carol.
> 
>  
> 
> Quick recap cause it's been a bit: Carol came back a couple months after the movie, has been living at home for a few months and going to space as needed for short bursts. Overall, she's sliding back into her old life pretty well, especially now that her memories are coming back. They just celebrated Christmas, and now Maria's brother Dion and his family are coming to town!
> 
> Chapter Summary: the Danbeau fam prepares for Uncle Dion's visit.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: discussions of homophobia, but nothing concrete

“It is clean,” Monica huffs, in response to her mother’s command, flopping against her barely-made bed.

 

“I’m gonna check,” Maria calls back, scrubbing around the bathroom sink, “so it better be.”

 

Carol peeks a head in, taking in Monica’s bed, sheets unkempt; trash, half-full; nightstand, tidy but not bare; and grimaces.

 

“Yeah, looks good,” she calls back, shaking her head at Monica, then whispers, “help me tuck in the corners, we gotta move quick.”

 

“It looks fine,” Monica whines, as Carol starts pulling her sheets tighter around her mattress, “Uncle Dion’s not gonna care about that.”

 

“Shh... your mom  _ is, _ ” Carol warns, “and that’s what matters. You know, we had to keep all of our stuff a certain way in Basic, so her bare minimum is a lot higher than most moms.”

 

“Yeah but  _ I’m  _ not in the Air Force,” Monica says, begrudgingly helping.

 

“She’s just excited about your aunt coming over,” Carol says, “she wants to make a good impression; we don’t make you keep it this clean every morning.”

 

“My room is always cleaner than my friends’, though...” Monica grumbles.

 

Carol starts at a sound down the hall, hastily smoothing down the comforter and making a beeline for the trash.

 

“Put everything on top of the nightstand in the drawer,” she says, taking the bag out of the trash, tying it quickly, and replacing it with one of the plastic grocery bags folded in the bottom of the bin.

 

She holds the trash bag behind her back as Monica quickly closes the nightstand drawer.

 

“Looks good...” Maria says slowly, “oh, hello Carol.”

 

“Hiya.”

 

“Funny you being here,”

 

“I live here,” Carol says, innocently.

 

“Have you two been cleaning anything other than Monica’s room, or just completing this task very slowly together while I scrub the whole bathroom?”

 

“I completed all my chores, sir,” Carol says, cheekily standing to attention; she casts a glance at Monica, “your mom gave me a list of things things that were either very heavy or high up- ceiling fans, cleaning behind furniture...”

 

“Is the living room tidy?”

 

“For days...” Monica says.

 

“I’ll vacuum,” Carol suggests, “but first, a break; I told Talos I’d call him, and I think he’d love it if you joined.”

 

Monica perks up at last, glad to be through of the monotony of cleaning- most of which she spent laying on the floor, brooding over how boring cleaning was, or playing with things she found while tidying her closet.

 

Carol prods Maria to come downstairs and sit with them, to take a break for a moment and relax.

 

Maria’s little brother Dion is coming soon with his young daughter, and his lovely normal wife- who he can refer to as such without consequence. Maria has to introduce a woman as her partner for the first time to her sister-in-law, with no small worry, and hope that Carol’s bruises and scratches from fighting a space-jellyfish have faded enough that a moment of better lighting doesn’t raise a lot of awkward questions. Carol has to lie about her job, and where she goes, and where she’s  _ been _ the last 6 years. Dion’s going to have to accept that Carol doesn’t remember much about him, and Maria has to hope Carol doesn’t shut down against the weight of people’s expectations for her. If an emergency comes up, Maria will have to explain why her wife has abruptly left and will likely not be coming back soon enough for them to see her again in the same trip.

 

If it’s going to be the only factor under her control, the least she can do is make sure the goddamn house is clean.

 

Maria reluctantly sits beside her child while her super-powered partner pulls out a comm, dialing an alien galaxies away from them. Her life is so weird. 

 

And she wouldn’t trade it.

 

Carol reaches over Monica’s lap to softly rub Maria’s knuckles, as if she can sense the turmoil stirring in Maria’s gut.

 

After a couple of minutes, the flashing white light before them finally blinks blue. The circle projected from the wrist of Carol’s suit wavers for a moment before disappearing completely, replaced a moment later by Talos’ smiling face.

 

Another head appears abruptly as the hologram detects the presence of Kalae, Talos’s daughter. Unlike a screen, where half a head may appear in frame, the hologram works on an all-or-nothing basis, displaying the entire object it detects, within reason, rather than taking all visual components within a range.

 

“Hello little darling!” Talos greets, “How was your holiday?”

 

“It was good!” Monica says, “did Auntie Carol tell you about Christmas?”

 

“Only that it was very important and she needed to get back for it,” Talos says, “but we thank you for letting us borrow her during your sacred times. She saved many lives the other day; I’d hate to think what would’ve happened without yer.... Auntie.”

 

Monica nods, seriously, proud of her parent’s heroic actions, despite having been bummed out about their unfortunate circumstances days prior.

 

“You figure out what that was?” Carol asks.

 

Talos looks from side to side, tilting his head after a moment.

 

“ I don’t see you,” he says, “you should decrease your sensitivity.”

 

“I- what?”

 

“It allows more objects into frame. It’s not picking you up; I only see Monica.”

 

“That’s ‘cause she’s holding it too close to her face,” Maria says, pushing the excited child’s arms further away from her body.

 

Monica sets the camera down on the coffee table they’re all leaning over, and Talos smiles wider, greeting Maria and then Carol.

 

“Talos,” Carol urges.

 

“Ah, yes, the creature,” Talos says, “I did find some information on that; one of the other refugee settlements had some civilians who recognized it. The buggers hook themselves into planets and start draining resources from the atmosphere for food. That’s what our friend was doing. The little scouts and spikes and things were meant to be a deterrent while it sucked the planet dry- how are you feeling, by the way?”

 

Carol rubs the spot above her eyebrow, now free of visible bruising or scabbing; a small lighter line remains the only evidence that there was anything there at all, and it too will likely fade in a couple days.

 

“I’m alright. Some of the worse hits still hurt, like my shoulder, but I heal pretty fast, so I just dressed them like a normal wound. They’ll go away at some point.” Carol waves her hand, dismissing the point, “I’m glad you guys are okay; we can’t stay long, we’re preparing for Maria’s brother to come over today with his wife and his baby daughter.”

 

Kalae perks up at this, and Monica puts two thumbs up, “I’ll send you a picture.”

 

“You will take it with my digital camera, and Carol can figure out how to send it,” Maria says, “ _ nothing not of earth is to come out while Dion is here. _ ”

 

“We’ll not call to say hi, then?” Talos asks, with a wink.

 

Kalae stays on after Talos bids them farewell, and Carol and Maria leave Monoca to chat for a bit with her in her room while they continue the effort to over-tidy.

 

Maria takes the kitchen, going through every drawer to make sure everything seems clean, and that the glasses aren’t too shoved in the cabinets that they’re going to come spilling out.

 

She puts some of the grown-up glass cups in the section of the cabinet Monica can reach; she and Carol keep things high up, since they’re both tall, but Bridget, Dion’s wife, is more in the range of short-to-average woman’s height.

 

Carol did a good job with the stove, Maria notes, running a finger over it; it’s grease free, shining nicely. She hadn’t asked her to do that, and she suspects Carol doesn’t care about the house being clean for Dion’s visit nearly as much as she does.

  
One thing Maria has always appreciated about Carol is her inherent desire to make sure she’s doing her fair share of work. She doesn’t make a big deal out if it, things in their house just get done without any fuss.

 

Maria asked her about it once, when they were in the early stages of dating, and all the work Carol had been doing had seemed to Maria at the time like a favor to her; she was the one with the baby, not Carol, and it was her responsibility to juggle her new tasks along with the old. Carol looked confused at the question, saying simply that if she didn’t do it, then Maria would have to.

 

Maria knows they’re both adults, and that they should implicitly both be sharing the housework, but something about preparing to marry a man all her life had given her a different expectation. If she’s honest, Maria thinks if she stopped tidying up, Carol would assume she had a good reason and go on as normal, doing their laundry and cleaning the kitchen, and giving Monica just enough of the chores to teach her good lessons but not belabor her with too much on top of her schoolwork.

 

Carol joked to her previously that her mother used to do the dishes really loudly when she was angry; her father called them “sink fireworks”, and everyone would typically get out of her way for a bit. Eventually, Carol started standing next to her, silently drying while the woman got out her frustrations by occasionally accidentally breaking their plates. The gesture helped, and the angry dishes would grow quieter, and her mother would slink away after a little calmer than before.

 

Maria was raised in a household where genuine respect was ingrained, but Carol, who never felt that way about her own family, brings it so casually and fully to her interactions with Maria, and her parents, and even Monica, who gets a voice and consideration despite being outranked. She picked it up from them originally, but like a convert to a faith, does not take for granted the teachings. Maria and Dion practice respect because it is how they were taught, but Carol does it because she has seen that it is a way to make life better, and has embraced it fully.

 

“I finished vacuuming,” Carol says, interrupting Maria’s train of thought as she strolls into the kitchen, “is there anything else we need to do?”

 

Maria silently stares at her as she enters, thoughts derailing too suddenly to formulate a reply to that question. She pushes away from the stove, stepping into Carol’s space and playfully pulling her in by a finger hooked into a belt loop. 

 

Maria kisses her softly, lightly stroking up Carol’s cheek and running her fingers over the curve of Carol’s ear, nestling them into her hair.

 

“Hi,” Carol smiles.

 

“Great job with the stove,” Maria says, nuzzling into Carol’s temple and dropping a kiss against her cheek.

 

“Great job with the bathroom,” Carol says, “I hate cleaning the tub, so thanks for that.”

 

“How’re you feeling?” Maria asks, “Are you nervous about seeing Dion again?”

 

“I like him,” Carol says, “he dealt with me being your weird quiet friend the first time, so if it happens again I guess he’ll be cool.”

 

“Yeah,” Maria assures her, “he will. But if you need a break, we can invent some reasons to let you sneak away.”

 

“Thanks,” Carol says, “I may take you up on that.”

 

She leans into Maria, wrapping her arms loosely around the taller woman’s waist, and nestles her head against Maria’s neck, breathing deeply. 

 

“I’m really excited,” Maria says, “to have all my family back together again.”

 

“And new family,” Carol says, “I’m holding the hell out of that baby.”

 

“You gotta take her from me.”

 

“Do you like Bridget?” Carol asks, “I’m gonna need you to talk to her a lot so I don’t have to.”

 

“She’s nice,” Maria says, “but I’m kinda nervous to be honest.”

 

She sighs, leaning against the counter.

 

“Am I gonna have to talk to her so  _ you _ don’t have to?” Carol whispers, “I’m not sure I’m gonna be good at that.”

 

“No,” Maria says, chuckling humorlessly, “if I’m worried about talking to her, I don’t know if you should either... I don’t know, last time I interacted with her I was just Dion’s sister, single-mom, ex-AirForce... but we didn’t tell her that I used to be with you because, well, what was the point?”

 

“Mm...” Carol hums, staring at the floor.

 

“I’m glad you’re here, and if it works out, it’ll be nice having one more person we can be open with,” Maria says, “I’m just... a little nervous.”

 

“We don’t have to tell her,” Carol says, “if it’s weird, I’ll just be Auntie Carol.”

 

“That trick doesn’t work on adults all that well, once they know anything at all about our living situation,” Maria says, “I don’t think we fooled Nick, either.”

 

“Eh, I don’t think Fury cares, Maria.”

 

“Dion says Bridget doesn't either,” she says, “he already told her, after I called to tell him you were back.”

 

Carol moves to the table, still staring at the floor, and pulls out their chair with her foot, dropping into it.

 

“How was Dion about us the first time? I don’t remember.”

 

“He was fine,” Maria says, “a little weird at first, but just casually homophobic more than anything.”

 

She presses firmly into her forehead with both palms, running the heel of her hands across both eyebrows and over her temples before physically shaking it off. 

 

“It’ll be fine,” Maria says, “cause you know what?”

 

“What?”

 

“At the end of the day I still get you,” Maria says sincerely, “that’s worth it all.”

 

Carol laughs, ducking her head again.

 

“You turn red like that while Dion’s here he  _ will  _ make fun of you,” Maria warns, stepping back into Carol’s space to playfully poke her waist, “he always liked to point it out when you blushed.”

 

“Yeah, I remember,” Carol laughs, turning a little pinker, “so embarrassing! And unfair. I can’t help it.”

 

“He’s just taking his job as your honorary little brother very seriously,” Maria smiles, “he makes fun of me too.”

 

“I remember that, too,” Carol says, smiling wickedly.

 

“You  _ cannot _ gang up on me this time! Not in front of Bridget.”

 

“Nah it’s cool,” Carol says, “it’s a trade; you guys can gang up on him. It’ll be fun.”

 

“Yeah,” Maria says, squeezing Carol’s hand, “It will be. I can’t wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sink Fireworks" is a direct reference to Carol's family life in the comics, but expanded on a little. I love exploring Carol's family with the Rambeaus as a space where she can take the learnings and behaviors of her background and purposely choose to build a better life for herself.   
> Again, someone get comics Carol her wife. She's bumming me out a little, with her lack of a consistent support system. I could write pages on meta on the importance of her relationships with Jessicas Drew & Jones, and how good they'd both be if comics actually let characters talk to each other more consistently. What we get is still pretty great from time to time, but oh boy I could go off about it. May show up in a one-shot fic on my page sometime. I'd post a meta on tumblr but shit gets heavy and tumblr's read-more system is not my favorite....
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for all the reviews and love you guys have shown this story! You're the best. Comments fuel the writing machine, they definitely made me feel like this fic was still something people were interested in, even as the rate of new AO3 stories dwindled. More coming soon I think, but this seemed like a good place to end this chapter, and separate Dion's arrival into next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, I am posting from my phone, so let's hope for the best. It worked last time...
> 
> Lots of great reviews last chapter! Thanks so much. Glad to see people are still interested in this fic. 
> 
> Chapter Summary: Dion comes to town and the Rambeau family heads to dinner
> 
> Chapter Warnings: casual discussion of homophobia and allusions to Carol's childhood, but nothing strong

Dion and his family arrive late into the afternoon, after an hour-long drive home from the airport with Maria’s father, and an hour or so of settling into where they will be staying at his parents’ house. 

 

Maria spends the entire time after they land acting like they are going to ring the doorbell any second, leaving Carol and Monica perched in bored anticipation, unable to get anything out to keep themselves entertained, as that would be un-tidying. Carol sits properly onto the couch eventually, leaning back into the cushions and trying to not let Maria’s nervous energy rub off on her so much. She chats with Monica to give them both something to do, and does her best to loop Maria in so she doesn’t wear a hole in their carpet.

 

Maria’s looking beautiful- in Carol’s sincere, lovestruck opinion- in a tight purple sweater, high-waisted jeans, and a long, brown coat with large buttons. She’s dressed Monica in a dark red dress, with brown tights for warmth; a thick coat hung up ready to go in the closet for dinner. 

 

Carol offered to let Maria dress her as well, but Maria told her to wear whatever she was comfortable in. As a result, Carol spent a considerable amount of time staring blankly into the closet, their conversation from the kitchen replaying in her mind. Band shirts are out, since she wants to put some effort in, which would normally mean a nice dress shirt and a blazer. With Maria self conscious about the two of them, though...

 

She went back and forth for a while on whether dressing more or less feminine was going to help her sister-in-law feel the least weird about them as a couple. If she wore her blazer, Carol thought, that would make her just like a stereotypical lesbian... not very feminine, dressing in men’s clothes... but, Carol reasoned, Maria was wearing pants, so wearing a dress would make it seem like Maria was being the less feminine one and Carol was the more feminine one... should she purposely dress less feminine than Maria and take that bullet?

 

Carol didn’t honestly know which of them were more or less feminine;  she supposes Maria likes dresses more than she does, but she wouldn’t call the woman girly. She sighed, touching the options before her over and over, hoping the right choice would come to her. She didn’t really like wearing dresses, but she’d do anything for Maria.

 

Eventually Carol stopped. It wasn’t as if Bridget wasn’t going to notice they were both women. She may as well wear whatever she wanted.

 

Thus, Carol ended up in a light blue dress shirt, with a dark green and blue plaid blazer over the top, dark blue jeans rolled up over a pair of black boots, and a pair of nice earrings.

 

Maria’s pacing tracks right down the hallway once more, evidently deciding it’s been too long since she’s looked outside. 

 

After a minute or so, she darts into the living room, announcing that they are pulling up at last, before walking back to the door.

 

Carol prods Monica into the hallway first, hanging back a little as Maria throws the door open, before any of their guests get the chance to knock.

 

Maria’s parents, her brother Dion, and his wife Bridget- carrying new baby Elsie- shuffle into the house one by one, eager to escape the cold wind the open field they live on offers. Consequently, Carol finds herself alone on one side of their guests, Maria and Monica on the other, instead of safely behind her girls as she had intended for the introductions.

 

Dion quickly hugs his sister hello, pinching Monica’s arm as she moves past him to greet Bridget and the baby, and turns to stare at Carol.

 

He looks good- tall, but a little swallowed in a heavy leather coat. He's always looked fit from the definition in his arms, but they're smaller than Maria's, and mostly just muscular in appearance due to his being skinny. His hair is buzzed short, thicker and darker on top, and his ears stick out just a little from the side of his head. He's got a nice smile and a kind face, which is directed at her now. 

“Hey Carol,” Dion greets. 

In her life, Carol’s reserved personality has often been mistaken for rudeness, or unfriendliness, but Dion always saw it as cool. He’d generally not interpreted her silences as awkward, echoing her brevity back at her with a smile, attempting to fit in with his big sister’s best friend. As such, Carol always felt very comfortable around the young man, like she could be herself with no problem.

She’s not feeling it now. 

Carol freezes, the parts of her which remember Dion fondly clashing with the fear that what she does not remember about him heavily outweighs what she does. She might think she knows what their relationship is like, but if she’s missing the years of interactions which shape Dion’s current expectation of her, she’s gonna make it weird.

She’s gonna make it weird.

She’s making it weird right now.

“Hi Carol,” Henry greets, stepping around Dion to envelop her in a hug.

Maria loves her father’s hugs, commenting that she’s glad he’s so big; it’s nice for her to be able to reach up to hug him and struggle to put her arms around him, even though she’s pretty tall herself. 

Carol enjoys it very much in this moment too, pressing her face into Henry’s shoulder; it gives her a moment of reprieve, where she could not see anyone down the hall if she wanted to, and establishes Carol as a part of the family to their new guest.

Carol hugs him back, squeezing tight- but not too tight- before pulling away, smiling fondly. Mr Rambeau has always had a wisdom and awareness about him, acting in the best way to make those around him feel comfortable.

He exercises it now, leaving a large arm around her shoulders.

“Hi Dion,” Carol says, swallowing her nervousness as best she can.

If she’s mostly just got memories of him from when she was in high school, then she will act on those, and hope he hasn’t outgrown his old personality too much. She nods, tilting her head sharply, eyes crinkling to indicate it’s not a particularly serious gesture.

He nods back, smiling goofily, silently joking with her the way they used to- a couple of shy kids who desperately wanted to make a good impression on the other, but didn’t have much to say.

“I- Bridget-” Maria is saying, as the other woman resettles her baby against her shoulder and turns inward towards the rest of them, “this is, m- this is Carol.”

Carol smiles, bumping her left arm against Dion’s as she passes, and shakes Bridget’s hand firmly, assuming the confident persona of Captain Danvers.

She’s empathetic towards Maria’s worries- finding someone who will even pretend to accept two women in a relationship can be challenging, much less someone who genuinely allows it to not affect their interactions- but for Carol, Bridget is easy. She’s the only person- infant aside- that Carol hasn’t met before. All she is meant to know about this woman is to be established by themselves from here-on-out.

“Very nice to meet you,” Bridget says, matching the strength of Carol’s handshake.

Bridget is a pretty Black woman in her mid 20’s; her hair is braided, pulled up into a bun. She’s chubby and short, coming up only to around Carol’s jaw, currently dressed in a nice blue blouse, a pair of black trousers, and a black coat.

She looks friendly. Carol’s biased because she’s definitely more comfortable around women, but she thinks if she saw her at a party she might try to say hi.

“Want us to show you around?” Carol offers, gesturing towards the main part of the house, “We could sit for a little bit before we go to dinner, if you want to come in and rest.”

“I’ve been here before,” Bridget says gently, smiling lightly.

“Ah,” Carol says, that funny tight feeling in her chest returning, “that’s right.”

“Let’s just go,” Dion insists, “if we let this old man sit it’ll take us an hour to leave.”

“Hey,” Henry protests, his deep voice resonating nicely in the small hallway, “if I stand up every time you all act like we’re about to leave, I’ll be standing forever.”

Carol opens the front door, seizing the opportunity to step outside and out of the crowd. She walks quickly to her car, opening the door and sitting in the driver’s seat without another word.

She pretends to fiddle with something on the stereo, keeping an eye on the group as they all wander outside and decide which car each of them will go in. 

It was weird she got in the car so fast, Carol thinks, and the tightness in her chest grows.

Maria makes eye contact at her through the windshield, pointing at her own chest and cocking her head; does Carol want her in the car? Carol shrugs in response at the question, waving 2 hands back so Maria will decide. 

Bridget catches their pantomiming, laughing and brushing her hand over Maria’s arm. Maria smiles at her. 

Monica continues to buzz around Bridget, eager to be where her baby cousin is. 

Dion steps away from the group first, towards Carol’s car. He pulls lightly on the handle a couple times, knocking on the window until she unlocks it.

“Dad’s driving Mom, Bridget, Elsie, and Monica, ‘cause he’s got the baby’s carseat,” Dion says, taking shotgun.

Maria climbs into the back, sliding into the middle, and sets her hand on Carol’s arm.

“Thanks for driving,” she says.

The feeling in Carol’s chest begins to dissipate. She thinks of car rides with Maria and Dion in the past; a context-less memory floating to the surface of the three of them getting ice cream after school. Maria, the only one with a car, drove always; Carol sat in the front, and Dion sat slumped against the window in the back, behind Maria, where he could pretend he was disinterested to his big sister, but still see Carol in case she said something that he wanted to respond to.

Carol backs out of the drive, following Henry.

“What do you remember about me?” Dion asks, twisting in his seat to settle his back against the door, and throws his arm around the seat, fingers settling on the headrest; he settles one foot on the seat, his other knee resting against the glovebox.

Maria leans into the middle, peeking over the console in the middle of the car, elbows resting on her knees.

 

“Only a little bit,” Carol says, “mostly things in high school, but I remember that you were still living at home when Monica was little, so we saw you when we visited your parents.”

“Yeah,” Dion confirms, “I went to the community college here the first couple years before transferring to LSU. I was still in high school when Monica was born, though, Maria had her young.”

“Hey,” Maria protests, “I was 20.”

“Yeah by the time she was born,” Dion says.

“Tss,” Maria hisses, leaning back hard into the seat, waving a hand up at her brother.

“Huh,” Carol says, “we were just 20 when we started dating?”

“Yeah.”

“That feels so young, now,” Carol muses, “How old are you, Dion?”

“Almost 27,” Dion says, “hey you know it’s good Maria got pregnant at 19 ‘cause you’d have never had a kid otherwise, yeah?”

“Nah,” Maria says, “we’d have just started dating later.”

Carol nods, sagely; they’ve had this conversation before.

“If you want a straight woman to fall in love with you, her being pregnant- hormonal- and single is the best strategy.”

Maria giggles from the back. 

It’s at least somewhat a joke, but Maria’s said she really thinks playing house with Carol as a young, single mom for a couple months was what convinced her admitting her feelings and going forward with a relationship with her was worth the risk.

“No offense sis,” Dion says, “I don’t think you were straight.”

“I dunno man,” Carol warns, “if you and Bridget have another baby, you gotta be sure not to annoy her with any nice lesbians around.”

Carol tsks to herself as a beat up green truck slides between her and Henry’s car, cutting off her tailgating.

“Aight, aight,” Dion says, “I won’t invite you over until the baby is born.”

“Gonna steal the heart of another Rambeau,” Maria agrees.

“You’re the only one for me, baby,” Carol says.

“You don’t control that power, I don’t think,” Maria says, “it’s best not to risk it.”

Carol changes lanes, weaving in-between a couple cars to pass the one in front of her, until Henry is in view again.

“How’d you meet Bridget?”

“Work,” Dion says, “I worked in Dallas for a couple years while you were still, uh,” he waves his hand, “alive, or whatever. Then I moved to Atlanta... four years back? I been doin’ Finance at Coca-Cola. Pretty cool.”   
  
“Yeah,” Carol says, “Maria told me- I’m proud of you.” 

“Pshh,” Dion laughs shyly, "be proud of yourself; you used to tutor me. Helped a lot back then."

“Eh?” Carol asks, “Why?”

“I dunno, Mom was payin’ you,” Dion says, “Maria used to do it, but Mom said she got too busy or something.”

Carol catches Maria’s eyes in the rearview. She’s got the kind of look she wears in front of Monica sometimes, like she wants to add a detail, but can’t, in front of the kid.

“I think Dion’s good for it,” Carol says, “he’s almost 27.”

“Good for what?”

Carol shrugs.

“Mom gave you a job so you’d have a good reason to be over more,” Maria admits.

“Ah.”

Damn, Carol thinks, Maria's parents really cared about her. She makes a note to talk about it with Maria later. They save their deeper chats for a safe, comfortable space, like their room at night with Maria's head on her chest. 

“Huh,” Dion says, catching on, “...duh. Can’t believe I never realized; I thought Maria was just sick of teaching me.”

“I  _ was  _ sick of teaching you.”

“You were a good tutor,” Dion says, “if it helps.”

“Thanks,” Carol answers, following Henry’s signal into the right lane.

“Weird jock-nerd.”

“Maria too, though.”   
  


“Yeah, yeah, but I hid the nerd part,” Maria says, “no-one else at school knew I had straight A’s.”

“You were always talkin’ about how you were gonna be an astronaut,” Dion tells Carol, “like in Star Wars.”

“I like Star Wars,” Carol agrees.

“Ah shit- did you get to watch it again?” Dion asks, “Like, fresh? I’d kill to do that for some movies.”

“Kinda!” Carol says, “I remembered some of it before, and during, but it felt new. It was still cool, even though-” 

Carol stops abruptly; weirdly abruptly.

Even though she’s been to space a bunch of times and met real aliens.

“Even though I remembered some,” she says.

Dion gives her a look out of the corner of his eye, like he’s gonna figure out why she stopped like that, and make fun of her for it later. 

Good luck, Carol thinks.

She follows Henry into a spottily-lit parking lot. They’ve arrived at a little Cuban restaurant that opened during Carol and Maria’s senior year of high school. It’s the only Cuban restaurant they’re aware of anywhere near them, and the only any of them have had, but Bridget’s from Miami, and has been excited to see if Dion’s only impression has been a good one.

“How was baby Elsie?” Carol greets Monica.

“She was asleep,” Monica says, disappointed, “but still really cute.”

"You can sit next to her at the table," Bridget assures her, pulling the wriggling, waking child out of the car. 

Maria steps up, holding two hands out, a big smile on her face. 

Bridget gladly passes her the baby, glad for a break.

Carol watches her wife press gentle little kisses to the infant's face as she bustles her out of the cold night air and into the restaurant. She used to love seeing Maria like this with Monica, so gentle, and loving, and motherly.

It's the same now, this feeling. Carol suppresses the irrational want for another baby. Dion was right, she was damn lucky Maria had Monica when she did. 

She snags the collar of her daughter's coat as they wait for the waitress to tell them where to sit, pulling Monica against her stomach backwards and crossing her forearms around the girl's shoulders, squeezing gently. 

Monica sinks against her, wrapping her fingers around Carol's arms, and presses a kiss to her bicep.

Carol resists the urge to scoop her up to take her to her seat, letting go and nudging her towards the table. 

She and Dion work together to cram 2 tables together, so the waitress doesn't have to, and eventually her family settles into seats.

Elise's at the end, in the stroller Dion pulled out of Henry's trunk; Monica and Bridget are on either side of the baby, Bridget absentmindedly playing with her foot to calm her, Monica perched attentively over her tummy, taking her small hand with reverence; Dion sits beside his wife, across from Carol, who settles in next to Maria, leaving Henry at the head of the table, and Lynn between him and her son. 

Maria offers to trade with Bridget, so she doesn't have to be secluded to the end of the table away from everyone else, punctuating her statement with a kick to Dion's shin.

Dion, suddenly, miraculously aware that his wife has been stuck solely handling his child since they arrived at Maria's house, offers to trade as well. Bridget takes his offer, shooting a knowing look at Maria. 

She settles across from Carol, angling her body towards her sister in law. Carol turns to look over Monica's shoulder at the baby, so she doesn't have to make small talk. 

"Thanks," Bridget whispers to Maria with a wink, "yours this clueless ever?"

Carol pretends not to listen, but she catches Dion's side-eye and understands quite clearly that they're both going to eavesdrop on their wives and ignore this baby. Monica's got it handled. 

Bridget is trying to make small talk with Maria by relating Carol and Dion, their spouses. It's a sweet gesture, one Carol bets is making Maria feel less anxious. 

"Carol was pretty helpful, actually." Maria says. 

Carol shoots Dion a sly grin, hoping he too is recalling their conversation from the car. His answering look implies he is. 

"She did most of the non-baby chores and things," Maria continues,  "though I did have Monica a grand majority of the time."

Carol thinks to Monica's first year. She supposes she did leave her with Maria usually, even though right now she would kill to hold baby Monica indefinitely, so she can't think of why she would do that.

As with many of her new memories, the answer is there, but buried. While Maria and Bridget move on to chatting about their flight here, Carol reasons it out.

Primarily, she thinks, it was not safe for Carol to take Monica too much in public. The last thing she wanted was people questioning their relationship. If she was straight and truly just Maria's friend, she probably wouldn't think twice about taking a crying Monica from her in public, but the fear of getting caught made her paranoid.

At home, Carol filled in where she thought she was wanted, trying not to overstep. She was very conscious from the beginning of their relationship that she had been in love with Maria for a while, and it may lead her to try and move too fast if she wasn't careful. Monica was one area she really tried to draw a line around, in the first year. That was Maria's baby, no matter how much Carol loved her, no matter how gutted she would be to never see her again if Maria left her.

Maria was often grateful enough for the help that Carol was able to spend a lot of time with baby Monica. Eventually Carol forgot the line, and forgot her worries in the safety of her home, and spent several years being happier than she could have ever imagined. 

She watches as Dion scoops Elsie out of her stroller, bobbing her in his arms to shake her out of her fussy mood. He doesn't look over his shoulder to see if the waitress is looking at them funny. He doesn't steal a glance at Bridget to see if she looks nervous. 

Carol has been thinking about putting her hand on Maria's arm, where it is resting on the table, for the past few minutes. She doesn't. 

Dion catches her watching him. 

"Want to hold her?" 

Carol nods, taking the baby gently across the table, careful not to knock her into any glasses. She looks at Bridget, who is smiling warmly. 

Elsie is a beautiful little baby. Her little hair has grown in fairly strong for her age, and her big eyes are such a deep, dark brown they look almost black. She's staring up at Carol with a little surprised-looking expression, mouth open in a little circle.

Carol coos soft, calming noises, staring deeply into her gorgeous eyes and smiling widely. 

"You've always looked very beautiful holding a baby," Maria whispers, throwing an arm over the back of Carol's chair and leaning in close. 

She turns her head just enough to see her, but not so far as to put their faces so close.  

Carol wants more than anything to kiss her right now. 

"I was just thinking that about you," she mumbles, in reply. 

Maria snakes her foot around Carol's ankle, leaning down and in to poke at Elsie, fully in Carol's space. 

She looks around, at her family- Maria's family, that she has been so kindly accepted into- all around them, smiling. 

They may not have public, but they've got something better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and for everyone who has taken the time to leave a comment so far!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Danbeau is good.
> 
> Chapter Summary: Dinner with the Rambeaus and then home  
> Chapter Warnings: none

When the waitress comes to take their orders, Bridget answers her in perfect Spanish. Carol wishes she had her suit, so she could use her translator and wow them all.

 

She whispers as much to Maria.

 

“That’s cheating,” Maria whispers back, “and it’ll be real fun when she asks you a question later and you have no idea what she’s saying.”

 

“This is why I need one that’s not fixed into my suit,” Carol says, “I could- Hi yes,” she turns to look at their waitress, “I’d like two empanadas, a colada, and an el Presidente. And some hot sauce? Thank you.”

 

“I’ll have the pork, please,” Maria asks, pointing to her menu, then, “oh boy, Carol; pastries, espresso, and beer. You  _ must  _ eat some of my real food.”

 

“You can have one of my empanadas, if you want.”

 

“I do want,” Maria says, “and some of your beer; and a bit of your coffee.”

 

“...You weren’t gonna drink the colada by yourself, were you?” Bridget asks, “You know they’re for like 4 people?”

 

“Eh?”

 

“That’s why they give you the little cups...?” Bridget pinches her fingers together, miming the plastic thimbles which always come with Carol’s favorite coffee.

 

“It’s small,” Carol tells her, holding her thumb and index finger a fists-width apart.

 

“Yes,” Bridget laughs, “but  _ definitely  _ for four people.”

 

Maria leans back in her seat, throwing her head back in a sharp laugh.

 

The waitress comes by with their drinks.

 

“Hola,” Carol says, as she puts her coffee down. “Is this- how many people is this for?”

 

“To share,” she gestures vaguely around.

 

“This by itself?” Carol asks, pointing at her espresso.

 

Bridget speaks to her again in Spanish; the waitress nods, pointing to the little thimble-sized cups.

 

“You pour it into here,” she clarifies, to Carol, “and you give it to friends. Three people? It’s strong; at night, five people maybe, so you can sleep.”

 

Maria laughs more, Bridget catches it too, leaning over the table and giggling.

 

“You drink this by yourself normally?” Bridget asks, as the waitress walks away.

 

“...Yes?” Carol says, staring at the little drink, “I think every time I came here I did. It’s delicious.”

 

Bridget snort-laughs; it’s cute.

 

“Oh my god,” she says, “and afterwards could you hear colors?”

 

“The beer balances out some,” Carol defends, tapping the El Presidente; Maria steals it for a swig.

 

“Nah,” Dion says, “not  _ five _ esspressos worth. No way.”

 

“It’s fine,” Carol says, drinking a sip of her very strong, very sweet, very fucking delicious coffee.

 

A light brown foam sits on top, and the drink itself is almost syrupy. 

 

Dion flips a little thimble, sliding it over; Carol reluctantly pours him a shot. Maria just takes the container from her directly for her sip.

 

“You guys should move out to Atlanta,” Dion says, “become pilots for Delta.”

 

“Those big planes are less fun,” Carol says, “but pretty cool, for sure.”

 

“I wonder if Delta has any Black women,” Maria muses, “United and American Airlines both hired Black women a couple years ago.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Carol says, “You could be the first. Damn that makes me really want you to go for it.”

 

Maria shakes her head, smiling, “It’s genuinely tempting just for that but.. I don’t know, I’d kinda rather work with Nick. Like you said, those big planes are just so different.”

 

“Nick?” Dion asks.

 

“He works with Carol,” Maria says, “Colonel. Nice guy. Kinda offered me a job flying.”

 

“You didn’t tell me about that,” Maria’s mother says, “would you have to move?”

 

“I haven’t accepted, Mama,” Maria shrugs, “we haven’t even talked about it yet.”

 

“I liked him,” Monica says sincerely.

 

“Me too, baby,” Carol says.

 

She owes a lot to Fury; he helped her find her family. On top of that, the guy’s genuinely funny and respectable, and he’s too smart to not realize what was going on between her and Maria, so that’s pretty nice. 

 

The food is good, as is the conversation. Carol orders another beer, making a show of it as if it will counteract the 3-5 espressos she is apparently drinking.

 

Maria offers to drive home, and Carol doesn’t fight it. She personally thinks she’s easily sober enough, but she’s not trying to be like her father, who’d insist really no matter what that he was good for it.

 

They agree to reorder the driving so that they don’t have to stop at both houses for nothing, and so they bid farewell for the night outside of the restaurant.

 

Monica gives Elsie a light kiss on top of her head; Bridget and Maria hug lightly, Dion and Maria more firmly; Dion gives Carol a fist bump before grabbing her in a full, tight hug. Unable to resist, Carol easily picks him up, leaning backwards until his feet are off the ground, shaking him a little. He laughs, and takes Elsie from his mother to put her in the car.

 

Monica knocks out within 5 minutes of driving, leaned against the window, the lights outside highlighting her face in quick, long strips.

 

Carol watches Maria quietly as she drives. There’s a particular feeling she has in this car, like some form of deep nostalgia; driving in the dark, the particular colors and lights outside, Maria’s beautiful profile, her fingers looped lazily over the bottom of the steering wheel, her other hand firmly gripping the gearshift. It’s moments like these that make her wonder how the Kree were ever to take memories of this life from her, how knowledge of the way Maria looked from the passenger seat wasn’t written into her basic functions like breathing and walking.

 

Maria catches her looking.

  
“What...?” She says, affectionately, smiling shyly.

 

“I love you,” Carol says.

 

Maria’s shoulders raise slightly as she smiles, soaking in the sincerity.

 

She turns her head to look fully at Carol for a moment, then looks back to the road.

 

“I love you too, baby.”

 

Carol and Maria tag team getting Monica into bed without waking her, once they’re home, like it’s a game. 

 

Carol air-sits goofily by the car door, holding both hands out like she’s going to catch something. Maria opens the car door slowly, allowing Carol enough room to put a hand in so Monica’s head doesn’t slide down the glass and wake her, easing it so that the girl falls slowly into Carol’s arms as she worms closer.

 

Having Monica firmly scooped up, Carol carefully ascends the steps, her daughter’s hair tickling her mouth, head nestled against her shoulder, breaths steady and slow.

 

Maria opens the house door next, quietly shutting it behind them, and warns Carol not to step on the loud side of the third step. Carol avoids it.

 

She realizes upon entering Monica’s room that Monica’s on the wrong side.

 

“Damn,” she whispers, standing to the side of the bed that’s not up against a wall.

 

Monica’s feet are facing the headboard.

 

“You could just put her down like that,” Maria whispers, snickering, “and we can put her pillow by the footboard and really confuse her when she wakes up.”

 

“I could,” Carol says quietly, “fly over the bed...?”

 

“Good idea,” Maria says, “I’m sure the intense brightness will lull her into a deeper sleep.”

 

“Backwards it is.”

 

“And not a giggle at the suggestion,” Maria whispers, “She really is asleep, huh?”   
  
“Man,” Carol says, barely audible, “we are the best at this.”

 

Maria pulls the foot-end of her comforter out of the neat tuck Carol had done in the morning, nicely made for guests who never saw it.

 

Carol sets Monica down oh-so-gently, supporting her back and head while Maria pulls her coat off, and lowering her head onto a pillow snagged from the front of the bed while Maria takes her shoes off.

 

“Perfect,” Carol says, “happily sleeping backwards baby girl.”

 

Maria leans in and kisses Carol once, twice, three times, then takes her hand gently as she walks to the bathroom to brush her teeth.

 

“Sure hope she’s actually asleep,” Maria laughs, somewhat nervously, rethinking her decision to kiss Carol so openly a moment ago.

 

“I’m sure,” Carol says.

 

Really, she’s just sure it’s fine. They’ve never been out to her, decided that was the best way to protect them all, but Monica is a sharp kid, and old enough to probably put the pieces together now that Carol’s living with them again. They’ve never even kind of pretended Carol wasn’t sleeping in Maria’s room every night.

 

“Have fun tonight?”

 

“You bet,” Carol says sincerely.

 

“More fun tomorrow,” Maria promises, running her toothbrush under water, “Christmas part two. Don’t worry, I bought gifts  for them.”

 

“Nah, I bought him a space thing.”

 

“No space things,” she insists, putting her toothbrush in her mouth and handing Carol her own.

 

“He’ll like it. It’s a-” Carol thinks for a good joke.

 

“Mhm.”

 

“A droid.”

 

“Star Wars. Of course,” Maria mumbles.

 

“Hey you’re the one who’s seen the movies like 5 times.”

 

Maria holds up a finger, indicating she will speak in a moment. Carol waits patiently. After another 30 seconds, she spits most of the toothpaste in her mouth into the sink, answering while she rinses her toothbrush.

 

“Because you made me go to 2 theatre re-releases, and sit with you when you watched them for the second time since you’ve been back, even though we watched it recently.”

 

“I can just watch them whenever I want now,” Carol agrees excitedly, “damn I love Blockbuster...”

 

“Uh huh,” Maria sighs, “man how many times am I gonna watch Star Wars now...”

 

“We can watch Princess Bride again, or Do the Right Thing, or uh...” Carol squints one eye, thinking.

 

“No, see, I don’t  _ want  _ to watch movies I like over and over,” Maria explains, “it’s not Star Wars as much as Star Wars  _ again _ .”

 

“Mm,” Carol frowns, “I guess I’ll just... watch them alone...”

 

“Monica will watch with you,” Maria tells her, but they both know Maria would join too.

 

“Fine,” Carol said, “thank God for her.”

  
“Yeah.”

 

“Yeah,” Carol smiles.

 

“Brush your teeth,” Maria insists, rolling her eyes with a smile and dropping her toothbrush back in its holder before walking out.

 

Carol does so, joining Maria a couple minutes later, shutting the door behind her softly and turning off the light. She changes quickly into her pajamas and climbs into bed, passing over her spot to climb over her partner. 

 

“Hi,” Maria laughs, as Carol presses a kiss to her neck.

 

She puts another by her ear, and works her way down to Maria’s collar.

 

“Hey, hey,” Maria says, but pulls Carol closer with arms around her waist, “we’re sleeping.”

 

“I’m not tired.”

 

“Yeah, ‘cause you drank  _ five esspressos. _ ”

 

“Like three...” Carol insists, “She said 3-5 and you had a little too...”

Maria giggles, her face pressed into Carol’s neck, her arms tight around her, her leg snaking around Carol’s thigh. Carol sighs contentedly, sliding her arms under Maria’s back and squeezing her gently in what she knows is still a tight hug.

 

“Ok,” Carol says, leaning her full weight against Maria, “goodnight.”

 

“No-” Maria laughs, wriggling as she finds it hard to breathe back in with Carol on top of her.

 

She laughs more, making the situation worse, and pushes at Carol’s waist to get her off.

 

Carol grins widely, playing dead a moment more before sliding off her partner and laying beside her, head against Maria’s shoulder, one leg thrown over her waist, and her arms tucked close to her.

 

“Want to go to sleep?” Carol asks.

 

“In a little bit,” Maria says, smiling, “I had some of that espresso too...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always very conscious when I have Carol drinking that she is an alcoholic in the comics. She definitely had events that triggered it there but it's likely genetic so I don't want to assume MCU Carol is like, Good. Anyway for anyone else who reads the comics and so also notices strongly when she drinks, I think the timeline of this fic will not have the issue come up, but if I write anything of her set in present day, she will not drink.
> 
> Anyway, hope you liked, always love the reviews! Thanks for supporting this fic so far, it makes it a pleasure to write. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I still feel a reasonable amount of motivation for this, mostly I think due to the nice comments y'all've been leaving. It's just nice to know people are still reading/engaged.
> 
> Chapter Summary: Monica makes breakfast  
> Chapter Warnings: none
> 
> These keep stretching longer than I intend. I've had notes for Dion's visit at the bottom of my document for chapters now, thinking he was going to visit the next one I write, and other things keep happening lol. But next chapter.  
> I'm traveling for work all week which either means I'll be writing significantly more or less than usual. Always a toss-up.

Monica wakes up backwards.

 

It’s really a perplexing thing to wake up in any sort of way other than you’re used to, whether that’s in another room of your house, in a hotel or friend’s home, or- as she finds herself now- staring blearily at her headboard instead of her bedroom door, sunlight blinding her from the left instead of the right side. 

 

She’s still wearing her clothes from last night, sans coat and shoes, and her pillows have been moved to the foot of her bed to match the orientation of her sleep. Monica remembers falling asleep in the car and nothing else, so she reasons that her mom or Auntie Carol must have moved her upstairs and, bizarrely, decided to punk her by putting her backwards in bed.

 

Monica rubs her eyes, smiling and giggling at the action of the bizarre women raising her.

 

Her mom has always been different from other moms; she’s funny, and silly, and she curses even when Monica is in the room, which she doesn’t think other moms do. Not to say she wouldn’t have her ass if Monica repeated said words. 

 

Auntie Carol, Monica has been pleased to find, is likely even funnier and sillier than her mom. “Likely”, she thinks, a little uncertainty, because the other woman has unlocked something in her mother since she’s been back. Maria, as aforementioned, has always been generally smiley and fun with her daughter, but with Carol back in their life, she seems to laugh more, joke more, smile more even when she doesn’t think Monica is looking at her. She wrestled Auntie Carol for the remote the other day, sitting on her chest after snatching it out of her grip; picked Monica up and dumped her on the other woman’s lap; surprised them both one weekend by driving past the road to church and instead taking them all the way to the city for beignets and sightseeing.

 

Monica supposes, changing out of her clothes and putting on the pajamas from the previous night, buried in her sheets, that it doesn’t make sense to deliberate on which one of them decided to tuck her in backwards in bed. The real answer is that they almost definitely did it together.

 

She slips quietly down the stairs and finds herself in an empty kitchen. There's no coffee in the pot, which she's fairly sure means no-one has been down all morning. Monica herself is up earlier than usual, but she knows they wake up near 7 most mornings because sometimes their conversations in the hall and their footsteps on the stairs wake Monica briefly.

 

She sits on the living room floor, and picks up the remote for some early morning cartoons when an idea occurs to her. She can make them breakfast in bed. 

 

They'd be really happy about it, and Mom said this was Christmas 2, what with Dion coming to the house today, and for once she has woken before them, so who knows when that will happen again. 

 

Monica pushes herself to her feet, running quickly through the kitchen. She turns on the coffee machine, which her mother preps each night before bed. It starts grumbling almost immediately, working to heat the water. Monica grabs the egg carton and milk from the fridge, and the bread from the box, and lays them all out on the counter, trying to remember how to do this.

 

She’s gathering bowls to make scrambled eggs with toast when the sight of the ingredients out on the counter reminds her of days at her grandparents’ house, where her grandma makes special breakfasts for her that her mother and Uncle Dion complain they rarely ever got as kids.

 

Monica places both palms on the cool kitchen counter, pushing herself into the narrow space between it and the cabinets. Her soft pajama pants slide along the surface as she carefully clambers to her feet. She stretches her leg out one at a time so she’s not dangerously standing on the edges of her pants, long and well-fitting as these are, new from Christmas.

 

She reaches into the special dishes cabinet for a neat grey box, filled to the brim with little recipe cards, and hopes she gets some of her mom’s height when she’s older.

 

She gets down much more quickly, turning, squatting, and sliding off the edge onto the floor.

 

The recipe card for French toast is scrawled in her grandmother’s neat cursive, something which Monica fortunately learned herself a couple years back. She retrieves the cinnamon, vanilla, sugar, and butter, as the recipe calls, and mixes them into a bowl as instructed. The cinnamon comes out a lot faster than expected, coating her entire mixture, instead of pouring neatly onto the spoon; she thinks it’s more than the spoonful, but hopefully not too much more.

 

She carefully measures out her milk, frowning as some drips onto the counter. Her mom never just lets her wipe up milk, she always has to get a wet paper towel, or soap. She’s not here. Monica wipes it up with the towel hanging on the oven.

 

She holds her first egg carefully, poised in the air, ready to crack, surveying her options. Her mom cracks them on the side of the bowl, and her grandma cracks them on the counter, and Auntie Carol always does it fancy with one hand, stealing glances at her mother to see if she was looking.

 

Monica’s hands are too small to do it with one hand, she thinks, and she’s really not sure how Auntie Carol does that, so she decides to crack it on the side of the bowl with two hands, like her mom. She hits it too hard, and little pieces of the shell fall into the mix along with her egg. She fishes most of the little bits out with a fork, wiping it on the towel, and carefully considers her next egg. Cracking the next two on the counter works a lot better, she finds, but it does leave a little trail of egg outside of the bowl, which she wipes up after.

 

Cooking is hard.

 

Monica pulls the little stool she uses to do the dishes over to the edge of the stove, turning the heat on to medium under one of the lighter skillets. Copying her mom, she goes to the sink, wetting her hands, and lets some of the water drip onto the pan. It gathers in small beads, and does not spit back at her, so she supposes it’s too cold. After another moment she does it again, but still it beads.

 

Impatient, Monica turns the stove up. She’s surprised they’re not awake already, and she doesn’t want to push her luck by waiting so long for the stove.

 

She wets her hands again, and this time when they drip onto the pan, they seem to evaporate almost immediately, hissing at her. She turns the stove back down, wetting her first piece of bread, and drops it into the skillet, pulling her hands back so it doesn’t burn her. She uses tongs to lift the edge of the bread, flipping it when it seems cooked on that side.

 

She realizes belatedly that she has nothing to transfer the cooked toast into, and quickly scrambles to get a plate. As she transfers it, she sees that the bottom of the first French toast is way browner than it should be, and Monica realizes she’s burned it.

 

She sighs, trying not to get too upset. Cooking is hard.

 

She flips it over so the nice side is showing on the plate, and tries the next one.

 

She cooks the next five one after another, hoping the first one doesn’t get too cold. Some end up kind of burnt, and others she really hopes she cooked long enough. She stacks those sides together, hoping maybe they’ll fix each other somehow. Maybe it’ll keep cooking them if the hot sides are touching, and some of the dripper sides will stick to the burnt part and make it taste better. The last French toast doesn’t have quite as much egg mix as the others, but she supposes it’s ok.

 

She gets down when she’s done, triumphantly picking up the skillet with both hands to drop it into the sink and run the water.

 

“Turn off the stove before you walk away from it, Mon,” Carol says, as soon as her hands are on the faucet.

 

“Ah!” Monica says, more indignant than surprised, “Nooo, go back to bed!”

 

Her tone is strong, but she tries to yell her words quietly, in case her mom is still sleeping.

 

Carol crosses the room to turn off the stove. 

 

“These look great,” she says, smiling widely at Monica.

 

“It was supposed to be a surpriiiise,” Monica wines.

 

“Okay, okay,” Carol holds two palms up, “where do you want us?”

 

“Go back to bed,” she says.

 

“Okay,” Carol agrees, “if your mom tries to leave the room I’ll tackle her.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Turn off the sink,” Carol instructs, leaving the room, “and  _ make multiple trips. _ ”

 

“Fine,” Monica says; when Auntie Carol sounds sensible like her mom, Monica thinks she should probably listen.

 

“Good morning Maria,” Carol greets loudly, in the direction of the stairs, “I think we should lay down again, it’s too early to be up.”

 

“What are you on about?” Maria says, and then. “Wh- HEY.”

 

Monica, abandoning any sort of pretense of hiding as curiosity overtakes her, dashes to the stairs to watch Auntie Carol, with her mother slung over her shoulder, reach the top of the stairs and turn the corner into her room. Maria, too preoccupied with curling up smaller so Carol doesn’t drop her, and smacking Carol in the back so she’ll put her down, does not look over at Monica.

 

Still, she must have heard her footsteps, or deduced some level of the situation, as her next words are, “Monica! What are you doing?”

 

“Nothing!” Monica calls back, laughing, and runs into the kitchen to retrieve the French toast, two more plates stacked underneath them, and forks stacked on top. She’ll make multiple trips.

 

By the time she enters their room, her mother has been tucked into her spot. Her arms are crossed as Carol pushes her forward to stick a pillow behind her back.

  
Maria’s what-the-hell expression changes slightly as she registers what Monica is holding, and she shakes her head fondly.

 

“This is so nice baby,” she tells Monica, “but can we  _ please _ just eat these downstairs?”

 

“No,” Monica says, “breakfast in bed.”

 

“All Monica,” Carol says, “I just came down too early.”

 

“Mm...” Maria looks Monica over, thanking her as she is handed the pile of plates, “You didn’t burn yourself, did you baby? The stove is dangerous. Did you turn it off?”

 

“It’s off...” Monica confirms, “I didn’t burn myself. One sec!”

 

She runs downstairs to pour two coffees with milk, putting a little spoon in each, and carefully walks them upstairs, spilling only little drops of coffee onto the steps. She places them both on her mother’s nightstand, running back down for the sugar and the syrup.

 

When she’s come back, her mother and Auntie Carol have distributed the French toast across the three plates, and have set up the pillows so it’s easier to eat. Monica sits criss-cross at the foot of the bed, mirroring Carol’s posing. Maria is reclined against the pillows Carol stuffed behind her back, squirming against them to shape them into some comfortable support.

 

“Please don’t spill,” Maria requests, “we’ll have to tidy up again before Dion gets here.”

 

“Monica cleaned up as she cooked like you taught her,” Carol says, smiling, “but I’ll do a more thorough look when we’re done eating.”

 

“Thanks for breakfast baby, what brought this on?”

 

Monica shrugs, taking her first bite. They gave her one of the least burned pieces, she notes.

 

It tastes pretty good, she thinks, pleased. She’d accidentally put in too much cinnamon, and she burned some parts, but it isn’t that different from how her grandma makes it.

 

“Mmm,” her mom says, “this is so good!”

 

Monica smiles, stealing a glance at Auntie Carol, for further affirmation.

 

“Delicious,” Carol agrees, stuffing a big piece in her mouth.

 

“Merry Christmas... 2,” Monica says.

 

“Merry Christmas!” Carol mumbles around her full mouth, putting a hand in front of her mouth in an attempt to be a little more polite.

 

“Dion’s gonna be disappointed he didn’t get any,” Maria says, “Elsie’s not old enough to eat this stuff yet, so Mom’s probably just made eggs for them.”

 

“I bet she’ll make them French toast,” Carol counters, “she used to make it all the time.”

 

“What?” Monica laughs, “Mom, you and Dion always complain I’m the only one who gets it.”

 

“Right, right,” Maria says, “my bad. You and Carol.”

 

“Hm?” Carol says, “She didn’t do that when I wasn’t there?”

 

“No,” Maria laughs, “she liked you more than us.”

 

Carol smiles widely.

 

“I like your mom.” 

 

“I know you do, baby.”

 

“Maybe she just knows I like her and she wants to do nice things for me.”

 

“Mhm,”

 

“I’m gonna ask her about it today,” Carol says, swirling a piece of french toast around in the streaks of syrup on her plate..

 

“I think she’d like that,” Maria says, taking a sip of her coffee, “word it just like you did to us.”

 

“Maybe she’s making French toast for Auntie Bridget,” Monica says; Auntie Carol and Auntie Bridget exist  _ somewhat _ in the same roles, she’s pretty sure, not that either of these two would ever really clarify.

 

Her mom and Auntie Carol share a little look, and her mother says, “Great coffee, Mon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This sounds like a fake and/or embarrassing internet story but it's true and it was entirely pleasant, but I have this lovely ~55 year old straight female coworker who loves Marvel movies and she asked my favorite and I said CM. She and I talk all the time about our different experiences in life and are friends so I also opted to be more honest and say it's a cute movie bc you could read the two women as married. And she was like, "oh you totally could". And then we talked about rep in TV, and she said she could empathize from the standpoint of rarely having leading Black characters and so she said to me she was definitely going to read them as married from here on out lol. 
> 
> But part 2 was the other day months later when this other guy (~35) we are both friends with at work said he's watched CM 3 times, this nice middle-aged woman was like, "oh well there's this debate about whether they were meant to be married in the movie what do you think?" lmao. And he was like, "aw yeah for sure, but I think Marvel wanted to leave it open to interpretation for the first movie; hopefully later that'll change". I love my coworkers.
> 
> Also I may have ordered a Captain Marvel costume for upcoming cons. :) My gf says she will go as Jessica Drew from the comics with me. Follow me on @d1nocharge on tumblr. Finally got my blog unflagged, but only by caving and finally changing my URL (prev. softgaycontent)
> 
> OK that was a lot of end notes, hope they don't deter those lovely comments. If you have even just 20 seconds, letting me know you're still reading means a lot. Thanks!!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for all the support last chapter!! I got a lot of really lovely comments. Great as always to see people are still engaged.
> 
> Edit: ah whoopsie I totally forgot abt chapter warnings...   
> Chapter Summary: Christmas 2!   
> Chapter Warnings: implied/referenced past child abuse (vague), references to religious-based homophobia
> 
> This one's on the longer side. Hope you enjoy!

After breakfast, Carol announces that she’s going to clean the kitchen, and tells Monica to make her bed, so Maria doesn't have to ask. Maria shoots her a grateful look and adds that she will clean their room and check on the living room.

 

The kitchen is fairly clean, save for some streaks on the counter where Monica mixed the ingredients, and some small splatter-marks on the stove. Carol replaces the ingredient box,  wiping the counter below the cabinet where she’s sure Monica had her feet. Maria joins her after she’s cleaned the stove, silently hip-checking her in greeting, and twists each of the dials to ensure none of them were turned on by Carol’s cleaning. 

 

“Rooms are good,” she says, “and no-one’s touched the living room, of course, so nothing to do there. I helped Monica make her bed.”

 

“Cool; thanks.”

 

“Did she really cook all that French toast by herself?”

 

“Yeah,” Carol says, “I mean, I watched pretty much the whole time. I caught her starting on the second slice and she didn’t see me until after.”

 

“She knows she's not allowed to use the stove unsupervised...”

 

“She stood on the little step-stool the whole time,” Carol says, amused, “I get the dishes, ‘cause the sink’s kinda deep...”

 

“She told me she can’t wait to be as tall as I am,” Maria snickers, “I should probably tell her her dad was like, your height.”

 

“If that,” Carol says, “I remember being taller than him.” 

 

“Of course you do,” Maria rolls her eyes.

 

“Like, at least an inch and a half.”

 

“You were not.” Maria says, “You probably got jealous and shortened him in your head.”

 

“Jealous? What? Nah,” Carol says, “OK, maybe then. Now though? I love Frank.”

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Adore the man. Love his big arms and his damn handsome face and his charming personality, or whatever it was that got you to take him home.”

 

“Shut up,” Maria laughs, then considers, “no, you’re right, I love him too. Thanks Frank.”

 

“Thanks Frank.”

 

“Poor guy.”

 

“Yeah,”

 

“I’m really trying to not forget what he looks like, so if I ever see him again I can tell him about Monica,” Maria sighs, “but I’m sure I have already.”

 

“He’s like 5’6” and he has a nice smile and giant arms.”

 

“He’s getting shorter. Two inches now?”

 

“Three.”

 

“Mm... two.”

 

“I’m 5’9”!”

 

“Mmm....”

 

“Measure me!”

 

“You’re like 5’8” and a half, at best,” Maria insists, “and you have to start rounding down when you tell people your height or I can’t say I’m 5’10”.”

 

“I like rounding up,” Carol says, “did you know I find your height unbelievably sexy?”

 

Maria snorts.

 

“And your arms,” Carol continues, reaching out to wrap an arm around Maria’s bicep, “...damn.”

 

“Stop,” Maria laughs.

 

“I might be a lesbian,” Carol whispers, “I really think you sold me on it.”

 

“You really sold me on it,” Maria agrees, “I’m not even a lesbian. I don’t know how you did that.”

 

“I don’t know,” Carol admits, as the phone rings, “maybe just my height advantage over Frank,” she picks the receiver off the wall, winking at her partner, “Hey.”

 

“Hi Carol,” Mrs Rambeau greets.

 

“Hi Mrs Rambeau,” Carol greets, more politely.

 

“We’re on our way over,” she says, “eventually. You know Henry takes forever to leave the house.”

 

“I’ll tell Maria. See you soon,” Carol says, then quietly, “love ya.”

 

She hangs up the phone quickly, before she can get an answer, flashes Maria a thumbs-up.

 

“I’ll go check on Mon,” she says, walking quickly out of the room.

 

\--

 

The rest of the Rambeaus arrive about an hour after the call, despite living 20 minutes away, which gives Maria plenty of time to start making lunch. She prepares a big deep skillet full of jambalaya, trying to cater to Bridget’s interest in eating Cajun food while she’s in town.

 

She turns the stove off and pops a lid on top as the knock finally comes from down the hall, wiping her hands on a clean towel Carol hung on the oven for her.

 

“Slow down,” she calls, to Monica’s quick, fumbled footsteps down the stairs. 

 

The loud thump which answers her tells her Monica ignored her advice, jumping over the last couple of steps.

 

“You can’t fly, kid.” Maria mumbles, too close now, with company at the door, to loudly scold her.

 

She enters the hallway as her family pours into it.

 

Greetings go quicker, as everyone saw each other the night before, and Maria ushers them towards the dining room. Carol meets them soon after, wearing a nice blue blouse. The neat look is somewhat countered by the way she’s rolled it up to her elbows, and the dark t-shirt visibly sticking out from under the highest button she fastened, but it’s very Carol, and Maria finds it endearing. 

 

“Hello beautiful,” her mother greets her partner, and Carol leans down to let the shorter woman kiss her cheek. 

 

Carol helps get everybody seated, and Maria is pleased to see she made the table up very nicely without Maria needing to ask. There are even fresh ice-waters at each spot, which must have been what she was doing while Maria answered the door. 

 

Bravely- or it feels brave- she leans in to give Carol an affectionate kiss on the cheek, before heading into the kitchen to collect the food.

 

Carol collects additional drink orders while Maria serves Jambalaya into bowls, and soon they’re settled in with alcohol and juice and hot, aromatic food. 

 

Her mother makes them pause to pray, something Maria only really enacts a quarter of the time at home, but which she and Monica do every night when Carol is out in space. 

 

“Delicious,” Dion praises; Bridget nods, hand over her full mouth, agreeing.

 

“You should add more pepper.” her mother says.

 

“Thanks, Mama,” Maria mumbles, then louder, “in the Santa-shaker.”

 

“No, to the food when you cook it.”

 

“There’s pepper in the Santa shaped shaker, Mama.” Maria repeats, volume unchanged, but tone as if she’s repeated it louder.

 

“Tss,” her mother hisses, shaking her head; her father smiles, wisely not voicing his amusement.

 

“What’d you guys have for breakfast?” Carol asks.

 

“Eggs and ham,” Dion answers.

 

“Monica made us some French toast,” Maria brags, smirking at her brother, “it was delicious.”

 

“Dang, no fair!” Dion says, “Why didn’t you make me some, Mon?”

 

“I can next time!” She answers, excitedly.

 

“Did you make the batter?” Bridget asks.

 

“I made the whole thing by myself,” Monica says, proudly, unaware that the statement is more a negative reflection on her parents than a positive one on herself.

 

Carol mimes, “I watched,” to the group, repeating the gesture a second time to ensure Bridget and her mother both catch it.

 

“That’s so cool Monica,” Dion says, “you’re getting real grown up.”

 

Monica beams.

 

“Hey Mom,” Maria says, “do you love Carol more than us?”

 

“What?”

 

Monica snickers, falling sideways into Carol’s arm. Carol leans in, resting her chin on her fist, and raising her eyebrows at Lynne, jokingly awaiting her answer.

 

“You made her French toast so much more than us,” Maria elaborates.

 

“Uh huh!” Dion agrees, pointing, “and pancakes.”

 

Their mother smacks his hand down, lightly. 

 

“Oh,” she says, “yes.”

 

Dion and their father laugh, Maria and Monica giggle, and Bridget smiles politely at their antics. Carol flushes slightly.

 

“She’s just always been so polite,” their mother says, leaning across the table to pat Carol’s hand, “she called me ma’am, and picked up her own plate, and mine, and did the dishes whenever she came over. And she’d have done anything for my daughter and her little brother. So she deserved French toast.”

 

Carol’s face grows redder, and Maria can tell she’s trying to limit the size of the little goofy smile that’s broken out.

 

“Isn’t that right baby?”

 

That really does her in, and the goofy smile hits full force. Maria remembers in high school that Carol would smile at least a little just about every time their mother called her “baby”. She really did love and respect the woman tremendously, and Maria knew she was touched by the time and effort and space in their home that she gave her.

 

“Yeah, well- I- I liked you,” Carol says, sincerely.

 

“You look so red,” Dion laughs, “Mama, you’re killing her.”

 

Carol’s face snaps serious in response, but her face color doesn’t change, nor does the mirth in her eyes.

 

“Look, she’s so embarrassed.”

 

“You stop before I embarrass  _ you _ ,” their mother scolds, “I can do worse.”

 

Dion suddenly looks more serious as well.

 

Bridget laughs, first at the expression on her husband’s face, then again at the sight of Monica leaning against Carol, giggling. 

 

Carol wraps an arm around their daughter’s shoulders, pulling her closer to press 3 quick kisses to her forehead.

 

“Technically,” Monica points out logically, as she sits back up, “you had French toast just as many times as Auntie Carol, since you lived there when Grandma made it for her.”

 

“Very good Monica,” Bridget says, giving the young girl a fist bump across the table, as the girl bobs excitedly.

 

“Yes,” Maria’s mother agrees, “quit your whining.”

 

Dinner is pleasant. Maria’s parents get stuck onto the topic of her and Dion’s childhood. Bridget, Carol, and Monica listen intently. Some of it includes things Carol was there to see, or certainly already learned about years ago, but Maria thinks she’d be paying attention whether she got these memories back or not, so it’s hard to tell which- if any- she remembers, without asking her.

 

The blouse her partner has on is shiny, a nice rich blue silk which catches the light beautifully, curving over her muscular arms and the shape of her breasts.

 

She’s pulled the cuffs up neatly, unbuttoning the sleeves and rolling them as high up her forearm as she can go, which is just about just below the elbow. Every once and a while she fiddles with each side, so Maria imagines it’s a bit tight.

 

The blouse is tucked into a pair of dark jeans, stylistically cuffed at the bottom to show more of her grey crew-cut socks. If she wasn’t in the house, Maria knows, they’d be cuffed because she’d intended to wear her heavy combat boots, something which really further offsets the lightly feminine shirt she’s wearing. 

 

At a comment from Dion, Carol laughs, her normally reserved expression shifting beautifully into a wide smile. The corner of her eyes crinkle with the expression, and Maria drinks in how her partner looks while she can. Sure enough, Carol’s smile relaxes back into a light tug at the corner of her mouth.

 

That's okay. The rarity of her smiles makes them feel so much more special. Maria gets them pretty often anyway. 

 

Someday, she thinks, when Carol's old enough for the crinkles at her eyes to sit permanently, Maria can take pride in knowing she was the main culprit. 

 

Carol turns to meet her eye, catching Maria's dreamy, loving gaze. Carol starts, subtly, her expression flashing visibly heartfelt for a moment, before Maria ducks her head.

 

When dinner is finished, Monica volunteers to collect the dishes as Maria shoos Bridget towards the living room, forbidding her from helping. Monica is fairly good about helping out with basic tidying- though it can be a challenge sometimes- but Maria suspects her particular eagerness came from her grandmother's praise of Carol earlier. She wants to show off for her extended family. 

 

Maria remembers it used to drive her crazy how much Carol tried to do around their house when they were teenagers. Their mother would always point out how polite Carol was- and look, there she is opening the door for people, and collecting the dishes without being asked. If only her own kids were so well-behaved.

 

Only at the very beginning did Maria ever hear her say anything like, "well-raised", or mention Carol's parents at all. Pretty much the moment they met Mr Danvers, banging on their door one night after dinner, all praise switched to be for Carol herself.

 

Maria didn't look positively on Carol's constant one-upping of them until she lived with her alone, then having a tidy roommate was actually quite nice, so she didn’t have room to be anything but grateful. And it was even later that Maria really realized that Carol probably felt like she needed to make sure she was in the Rambeaus good graces at all times.

 

Her mother’s love for Carol came quite in handy years later, when Maria came out to her parents. The woman spent the day at their New Orleans Catholic Church after Maria dropped the news, praying and fussing and doing confessional about her daughter's homosexual, extramarital affair with the girl that she felt as if she had taken in- despite Carol never really living with them officially.

 

Having got some of it out of her system by the time she returned, she told Maria she had already really fucked up with the whole baby-out-of-wedlock thing anyway, but they were happy to have Monica, so for now, she'd just better get her ass to church the next day- and Carol's too, the next time she was in town. She disapproved, but they could work the rest out later; she didn’t want to push either of them away.

 

Fortunately, what her parents eventually worked out is that they were just going to be okay with it. But her mother still recommended she bring it up in confessional. Hardly anyone was abstinent these days either, but they were expected to at least confess to the sin as they were supposed to.

 

Explaining to an amnesiac Carol that her mother expected her to go to church every so often and sit in a little box and apologize for sleeping with Maria was a fun conversation.

 

She's sure at this point that her parents would still support them even if she didn't- and how were they to know really- but Maria added the word “gay” to her established confession of “extramarital sex”, with “missing church”, and whatever of the 7 deadly sins she may have committed in recent memory. At least she got to take off “artificial birth control” in exchange.

 

Maria watches her mother as she comes fully into Carol’s personal space bubble, something which she allows for few people comfortably. She doesn’t so much as twitch as the older woman rubs circles on her back as she speaks to her, nor does she try to stop her as she reaches towards her chest to button another button higher, so the undershirt Carol is wearing is no longer peeking out. 

 

Carol draws the line as she goes for her cuffs, working her fingers under the edges to unroll them; Carol pulls her arm away gently, gesturing towards her arm and responding too quietly for Maria to make out from her position in the doorway. Her mother grabs her arm again, and then again with both hands. At this point her partner gives up, sagging her shoulders and allowing Lynne to alter the Look she was going for. The sleeves are rebuttoned at Carol’s wrists, and the collar is straightened, and the shirt is tucked in more firmly, and her hair is combed through with neat painted nails, and the whole time Carol stands loosely, resigned to her fate.

 

Her mother squeezes Carol’s shoulder affectionately when she’s done, pointing for her to go sit down between Dion and Bridget. Carol shakes her head, not frowning, and does as instructed.

 

Maria tries to walk over to Carol, only to be barred by her mother and directed to sit by Bridget, insisting it’ll be best for the photos. Maria wants to sit next to Carol, but she doesn’t want to insult Bridget by refusing, so she does as she’s told, sitting on the floor between her sister-in-law and her father.

 

Monica is sat in front of her Uncle Dion, and is handed baby Elsie by Bridget. She fluffs the blanket from her stroller up in-between Monica’s criss-cross legs, creating a little nest to lay the baby into comfortably. Monica delicately strokes her little cousin’s forehead, smiling peacefully down at the little girl.

 

Lynne sets up the camera, fidgeting with the view for a minute before starting the timer and running over to sit next to her son. She sighs as it goes off before she’s fully settled, leaning onto one palm to push herself to her feet and try again.

 

“Mrs Rambeau,” Carol interrupts, leaning over Dion to put a hand on her arm, “I’ll take it.”

 

“Thank you Carol, dear,” she sighs, gratefully settling down, “don’t move the camera.”

 

“Okay, Mrs Rambeau.”

 

“I set it up how I want it.”

 

“I gotchu.”

 

Appeased, Lynne sits back, smoothing out her shirt.

 

Carol delicately presses the photo button, sure not to jostle the camera, and scurries over to drop hard onto the ground, smiling wide for the picture.

 

Maria gets scolded for staring at her partner during the photo, instead of at the camera. She shoots her father a betrayed look for ratting her out, and Carol taps a loose fist against her heart, eyes twinkling.

 

Carol stands once again, staring at Maria and pointing sternly at the camera, a mock-serious expression on her face. She drops back down to the floor hard once again to make the photo in time, and Maria laughs at the sound, but does not dare take her eyes off the lens.

 

Everyone settles into more comfortable positions as Maria confirms she was looking in the right place and her mother deems the photo acceptable. Her father immediately stands, walking over to the couch to sit instead. 

 

“I’d like both copies of the photo, when you have them developed,” Carol asks, helping Lynne to stand with both hands.

 

Oh, how Maria loves her.

 

“Sure baby,” Lynne smiles.

Carol steps over to where Bridget is squatting next to Monica, bringing up a finger to indicate to the woman that she’s going to touch her baby, so she’s got time to stop her. Carol slides an arm under Monica’s leg, placing her palm against Elsie’s back through the gap in her daughter’s criss-cross legs. She slides the other arm behind Monica’s lower back, grabbing the back of Monica’s trousers in a tight fist and lifting the girl, moving her in one fluid motion to the couch.

 

Bridget stares, unable to process what she was doing until it was over, thus unable to stop her if she wanted to.

 

“Okay,” she says, clearly not terribly pleased, but unable to argue that Carol didn’t know what she was doing, and squeezes the woman’s bicep, mumbling, “strong...” before sitting beside her niece and daughter.

 

Carol sits in the chair by the windows, across from the piano, and... fuck it. There’s no seats left and Maria’s had a couple tall glasses of wine. She climbs into the seat with Carol, sitting on her lap and throwing her feet over the arm of the chair. 

 

Even very limited PDA is still hard for her even in front of her supportive family and seemingly cool sister-in-law, but Maria’s always prided herself on being brave, and she’s got to stick to her principals and cuddle up to her wife on Christmas 2 if that’s what she wants to do.

 

“Dion,” her mother says, squeezing in next to her husband, “please go get the presents out of the car.”

 

“Christmas 2!” Monica cheers, lifting Elsie’s little grabbing fists gently into the air with two fingers on each little arm.

 

Dion, perched on the piano seat, stands and exits the room, and the house. There’s a clear noise of him setting something a little larger down in the hall. He sets a couple of gifts on the coffee table and leaves again to get several more, juggling and dropping them as delicately as he can next to the others.

 

At his sister’s instruction, he also collects all the ones from under the tree, passing them out to each of the family members gathered, as labeled.

 

Gift-giving is really Maria’s least favorite part of any holiday; she prefers gifts when they’re spontaneous, bought or made out of a genuine sense of feeling that the other person would like it rather than out of obligation to meet a date. She curses the time spent looking for something only passable, and curses the money spent on things she’s unsure the other person would really want.

 

She doesn’t like receiving gifts she wouldn’t really want either, because she’s not fond of wasting her friends’ and family’s money, something none of them have ever been particularly flush with.

 

Maria has rarely felt this stress with Carol, in either direction. They have been very close for a long time, and she finds that when Carol tells her about the mundane things she likes- like planes, and Star Wars, the color steel-blue, and rock music, and cats- they stick into her consciousness like something very interesting, as if the woman has told her a fact of the universe, that she should remember to understand life better. 

 

Finding gifts has rarely been too hard. Steel blue boots, and NASA sweatshirts, a cheesy dress shirt with cats printed over it, Star Wars playing cards, and a Heart t-shirt stuck out to her on the shelves over the years, and Maria found herself excited to give her what she bought, not doubtful about whether or not Carol would appreciate or use them.

 

And Carol has never disappointed either. From cool jackets, to the running shoes she always wanted but never felt right about buying for herself, to the necklace she wears every day, Carol’s presents have always felt personal and genuine, and how much the other woman listens to her and understands her is very clear.

 

It’s not quite like that with the rest of her family all of the time, but they do try, and she has a pleasant time laughing and joking with them, and taking pictures as they go through each of the gifts around them, until there are none left. Just about everyone has given the other something- besides those who live with each other, and did it on the actual holiday- except for anyone to Carol. One could easily think that the gifts they gave to Maria counted for the whole household, except for the way Dion is perched on the edge of the piano bench, smiling mischievously.

 

Monica is smiling too, bouncing around so excitedly that Bridget takes Elsie from her lap.

 

“Okay Carol,” he says, “what we got you is really gonna vary in reaction depending on what you remember, but I’m hoping you’ll like it either way.”

 

“Yeah...?" Carols eyebrows lift curiously.

 

He springs to his feet and turns the corner, into the hall, and Maria remembers only now that he’d set something down before coming into the living room.

 

Carol looks to Bridget, who smiles warmly to her. She wrings her hands in Maria’s lap, who is still sitting on her own, ostensibly due to the lack of other seating.

 

“Alright, move sis,” Dion says, popping his head back in and waving his hand about in a shooing motion. 

  
Maria slides off Carol’s lap and sits at Dion’s spot on the piano bench, snapping a picture of her anxious partner.

 

She takes another as Carol’s face changes. She smiles, as Dion approaches her with a full-sized guitar case, but Maria can see the subtle terror behind her eyes that she has been bought an expensive gift and that everyone is looking at her.

 

“Wow,” Carol says, blinking, “I-”

 

“Open it!” Dion tells her, pushing the gift into her hands.

 

Carol slowly unzips the guitar case, her face pinkening slightly again, and breathes slowly in as she pulls out a gorgeous blue electric guitar.

 

Maria can’t see Dion’s face, sitting as he is now on the coffee table, his back to her, but she can tell he’s excited.

 

“It’s gorgeous,” Carol says quietly, “this is cool as shit man...”

 

“You like it?”

 

“Of course, but-” She holds the end of it firmly, glancing nervously to Maria, and then her parents, now not daring to look over at Bridget.

 

Maria has only ever known Carol to be gentle, where that is her intention, and even with superpowers she has never broken anything or hurt Maria or Monica by mistake. But she still worries in the moment about the arm of the guitar, clenched in Carol’s fist.

 

She gets up quickly, walking around Dion, brushing a hand over his back, and takes the guitar from Carol, pretending that she is doing so to admire the make.

 

Carol re-clenches her fists in her lap.

 

“Thank you,” she repeats.

 

“Do you remember when you used to play with Dion, sweetheart?” Maria asks, sitting on the arm of the chair.

 

Carol pauses, shaking her head.

 

“Yeah,” Dion laughs, “that’s what I was wondering.”

 

“Uncle Dion said I couldn’t ask or you’d guess,” Monica says; she’s excitedly slid off the couch onto the floor, resting her whole upper body onto the coffee table, and drums it lightly as she speaks.

 

“You in on this, Lieutenant Trouble?”

 

Dion turns around to fistbump his niece.

 

“How...?” Maria sighs, “you two don’t even live in the same state...”

 

“I’m a secret agent,” Monica brags, “Pa-Pa asked me to figure out what kind of guitar we should get, and if we had any speakers, and we went to the store to get speakers together!”

 

“You... huh?”

 

“It’s really cool,” Carol repeats, quietly, clearly touched.

 

She looks as if she is about to say something once more, and Maria knows she’s still worrying about the expense. Bridget picks up on it too.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” she assures them, “It wasn’t crazy or anything.”

 

She answers well, trying to relax Carol without dinging Dion's pride by implying it was a cheap gift. Maria suspects by her careful glance at Dion and general ease about the situation that it was more on the reasonably-priced side of expensive gifts. Not nothing, but Maria can relax. 

 

“Nah,” Dion says, “it was a good deal for great quality! And I make good money now, at my job. Like real good money. And I’m really, really happy you’re not dead.”

 

“We bought the speaker with some of the money we saved on six years of Christmas and birthday gifts,” Henry jokes, and Lynne punches him admonishingly in the thigh, "it's at the house."

 

“I used to play on a traditional guitar,” Dion explains, “I still do, but I upgraded from my old one. I’m gonna give  _ that _ to Elsie when she’s a bit older.”

 

“A bit,” Bridget scoffs.

 

“You taught me the basics when I first got mine from my grandpa,” Dion continues, “I guess your dad played years before and you had one around the house. I practiced for a while and when I knew more than you I taught you some of what I’d learned...”

 

Carol’s eyebrows scrunch together, and she stares at her knees. She’s thinking, trying to remember without being so overt as to close her eyes. 

 

She gently takes the guitar from Maria. Sliding it into the correct position in the limited space she’s got, Carol’s fingers hesitate over the strings before quietly plucking out  _ Ode to Joy _ , a quick 16 notes of what she taught to Dion as an introductory lesson.

 

“Yeah!” Dion says.

 

“Play something cooler!” Monica says.

 

“Uh-” Carol stammers, hands flickering over the correct positions for several chords, “I don’t remember anything cooler.”

 

“You’ll get there,” Maria tells her.

 

“And then you and Uncle Dion can hold a concert!”

 

“Next time I’m in town,” Dion promises, “I’ll bring my guitar. You better be ready, ok Carol?”

 

“Sure,” she says, “can’t wait.”

 

Maria turns the conversation over to Monica again, so Carol can have a break, interrogating her on what exactly what kind of speaker she and her grandparents bought behind their backs, and how much she knew about all of this. She says she helped them decide that an electric guitar would be way better for Carol than a wooden one, and what color to get, and she even picked out a couple of spare picks from a local music store, though Dion bought the guitar in Georgia.

 

Carol zips the guitar up into its case. She stands, depositing it behind her in her seat, and wraps Dion in a hug as he stands to meet her, burying her face into his shoulder and neck. She squeezes tightly for a moment and then moves to the larger couch, perching almost in Lynne's lap to give her a quick hug, slides into Monica's space to hug Henry and then her daughter, and crosses around to give a side hug to Bridget, nodding at the woman a couple of times to give a less physical thank you to the woman she doesn't know as well. 

 

"As payback,” Carol says, “I'll have to get you all something very cool one day too." 

 

She shoots Maria a glance, a sly smile on her face. Carol doesn't say Space Gifts, but Maria hears Space Gifts.

 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes and smiles politely instead.

 

They wrap up the night with card games, and more drinks. Lynne, completely sober, takes on the task of cutting off her family members as she deems they have too much; first Carol, then Dion. Maria cuts herself off after her partner’s beer is removed from her hand, so her mother doesn’t have the chance. Her father follows her lead, declaring his current beer to be his last, even though he’s a fairly large man and she knows the amount he drank has likely done very little to him.

 

Her mother slides into the driver’s seat, pulling the lever and wrenching the seat far forward, from Henry’s seat position to her own. Her father does the opposite in the passenger’s seat, sliding it back before he is able to get in. 

 

Maria turns to see Dion holding Carol in a tight hug. She has enough, eventually, and he goes stumbling back, laughing, as she shoves him a little too hard away. Maria places a hand behind him to help him stop teetering before finding herself subjected to the same heavy, unbalanced embrace. She pats his back hard several times, one of those polite gestures that passes for loving but really means she’d like him to let go.

 

“Oh come on,” Maria says, as he finally releases her, “you’re not leaving until Friday.”

 

“I just love you guys,” Dion says.

 

“You’re just a bit drunk,” Maria whispers, mindful of Monica.

 

“My most sincere self,” he answers, arms spread wide.

 

Maria pushes him this time too, lightly, so he doesn’t trip over his feet, and waves, turning around to nudge Carol off the pillar she’s leaning against and into the house.

 

She tidies the kitchen alone, and when she heads upstairs, both her girls are in bed.

 

Monica is clothed in her pajamas, teeth brushed, all preparations made to sleep other than her usual shower, due to the time. Maria tucks her in nicely, kissing her daughter on the forehead before turning off the light.

 

Carol is laying half-beneath the covers in her underwear. She certainly hasn’t showered either, and Maria really doubts she’s brushed her teeth. Maria rolls her eyes, smiling, glad she had fun. She changes, brushes her teeth, and climbs into bed beside her partner, falling quickly into a pleasant sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, hope you liked that! If you have the time, leaving a comment is the best way, as always, to help me stay motivated, and it is greatly appreciated. ♥


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter today!
> 
> Chapter Summary: The gals on a quiet night & some important decisions
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Discussions of period-typical homophobia

Carol's hands ghost over the strings of the guitar, occasionally quietly humming as she accidentally makes light contact. 

 

The way her hands are moving- though Maria tries not to look too closely in case she stops- lead Maria to think that she's thought of how to play something, and she's trying the motions. 

 

"Can I hear too?" Maria asks softly, after a bit.

Carol looks up sharply, as if she’d forgotten Maria was there. 

 

“Oh, I...”

 

She taps her fingers against the strings, thinking. A quiet buzz skims over the silence in the room in response.

 

After a moment, Carol positions her hold into the shape of a chord and the noise abruptly stops.

 

The guitar isn’t plugged in, but the sound is nice. Maria recognizes it almost immediately as Yesterday, by the Beatles. The song, for her, is only secondarily a Beatles song; her primary association for a long while has been accompanied by a visual of Carol gently strumming out the tune, her hair covering her face as she stares intently at the pick in her hand. 

 

They didn’t own a guitar at home, but they visited the Rambeau home in Louisiana together a number of times after they graduated and moved out. Maria has a distinct, cherished memory of Carol sitting at the foot of the stairs, Dion’s old guitar over her lap, and Monica’s little hands on her knees.

 

Maria was sat behind Monica, on the floor, ready to grab lightly at her small wrists in case she tried to touch the strings again while Carol was playing. She didn’t, only slowly moved her big eyes from the guitar to Carol’s face.

 

Carol broke concentration, skipping over more strings with the pick than intended, and laughed, dropping her hands from the instrument to grab her daughter’s face, kissing her on the nose, and cheek, and forehead. Monica smiled, laughing out of pure child’s joy more than any real amusement, and bounced in place, asking her Auntie Carol to keep playing. 

 

Carol started again, this time singing softly along. Monica bounced again, overjoyed, and crouched the funny way that little children often do, hands still delicately set on Carol’s knees as she stared up at her.

 

Maria had felt so in love in that moment. She cried, thinking of it later, when Carol was gone, and every time the song came on the radio for years, Maria stopped to listen, mind elsewhere.

 

The door creaks open while Carol is playing, and thankfully, she doesn’t stop.

 

If anything, she plays a little louder as Monica enters the room, peeking her head in curiously before walking all the way in, to where Carol is sat on Maria’s side of the bed. Monica slowly sits on the floor against the wall, and turns to smile at her mother.

 

Maria smiles back, but feels tears well up in her eyes as she does. She quickly closes them, trying not to freak either of her girls out by getting emotional.

 

Carol finishes the song, plinking a couple of extra notes at the end, and turns towards them both with a comical look on her face, cheeks puffed up a little with the force at which she is pulling her lips into a neutral, straight line, which almost resembles an artificial polite smile, but which Maria thinks is just her being a little self-conscious.

 

Monica launches herself away from the wall and dives around the guitar onto the bed. She throws her arms around Carol’s waist, and Carol’s smile curves, meeting her eyes.

 

“Hah,” she says, embarrassed, “glad you liked, babygirl.”

 

“I did!” Monica says, and then, “You used to play that song when I was little.”

 

“Oh?” Carol says, “You remember that?”

 

“Do  _ you _ remember that?”

 

Carol nods.

 

“Yeah, I do.”

 

She smiles again, discarding the guitar onto the bed behind her, and pulls Monica into her lap, squeezing her tightly.

 

“I hope you had a good Christmas,” Carol says, quietly; and then, as she and Maria have been discussing, “I may have to go back to help Talos for a bit soon...”

 

Monica frowns, but nods.

 

“Will you stay until Uncle Dion leaves?”

 

“Yeah baby. Well, I hope so. I don’t know how to explain leaving before that.”

 

“We have the coolest secret ever,” Monica sighs, disappointed she can't share.

 

Carol raises her eyebrows at her partner, the instrument discarded to afford room for their daughter on her lap, and flashes Maria the number two, fingers spread like a peace sign.

 

Two big secrets.

 

Doesn’t Maria know it.

 

“Good thing you’re a good secret keeper,” Carol tells Monica, not breaking eye contact.

 

Maria looks away.

 

“Okay baby,” Carol says, juggling her into a comfortable holding position as she stands, “time for bed.”

 

\--

 

Sleep does not come easily for Maria.

 

She spends a little while reading before even trying, not feeling particularly tired. Carol rolls away from the light Maria’s got on, and ends up on her stomach by the time Maria switches the lamp off, head resting in front of her pillow, toned arms framing her head, fingers curled into loose fists against their sheets. It’s not a very cuddle-able position at this point, so Maria faces away from her, onto her side, and- mindful of the time- tries to sleep.

 

A half hour of frustratingly staring at the wall later, she is tempted to pick her book back up. 

 

Carol wants to tell Monica about them.

 

It’s easy to think it’s a good idea when you’re in space all the time, and you can tell your alien friends about your partner and your daughter; or when you come back to earth, and your daughter is home, and your extended family miraculously accepts your situation; it’s easy enough then. But Maria lives in the real world.

 

Dion’s going to go back to Georgia, and Monica’s going to go back to school, and Carol’s going to go back to space, and Maria’s gonna be here. Here with her polite white neighbors who could be racist and are probably homophobic and may be accepting of their presence... up to a point. Here where it’s literally illegal to be gay, and at least, completely legal for the bank to take their home, and the government to take their their child, and her employer to take her job.

 

Monica’s good at keeping the space secret, sure, but who’s going to believe an 11 year old when she tells them that Carol’s got superpowers and protects the innocents of the universe from harm? What they will believe, should she naively trust anyone enough to tell them, is that her mother is dating another woman.

 

Maria rolls, burying her face in her pillow.

 

Not telling her is stressful, too. It’s a lot to put on a child, a secret like this, but if Monica  _ doesn’t  _ realize it’s not okay to talk about, and she lets slip that Carol lives there, and that they sleep in the same room, and share a bed...

 

They’ve gotten too relaxed. Carol used to have her own room, used to sleep there at least at the start and end of most nights. She had her own apartment before that, until the expense was too much to justify, when Carol’s constant presence was better explained as a roommate anyway. 

 

Carol can protect people across the universe with her fire-hands and super-strength, but she can’t do shit to protect their life here if anything should get out about them.

 

Maria knows Carol understands; she’s gotten a lot of her memories back at this point, and the heavy fear which sat over their life, even at its truly, truly happy moments, could not stay forgotten for long.

 

She’s about to get up and go downstairs for some water and a pace around the kitchen, when Carol, having slowly curled into a ball in the last 10 minutes, knees her. 

 

She jerks back in response to the contact, flying into a sitting position. The muscles of her face twitch as her eyes protest the sudden exposure to the limited light in the room from her wide, panicked gaze. 

 

She pants, a quick huff, then slow, calmer exhales as she registers her surroundings and Maria’s worried expression.

 

“Sorry,” Carol whispers, “did I wake you?”

 

“No,” Maria says.

 

She reaches up to pull Carol to her chest, but decides to let her calm down a moment longer, allowing herself to be pulled up into a sitting position as Carol misinterprets the gesture. Maria leans against her partner, sinking into her chest as strong arms gratefully curl around her.

  
“Sorry,” Carol says.

 

“You didn’t wake me,” Maria insists, “I can’t sleep.”

 

She wonders if all her light and restless movement pulled Carol enough out of a deep sleep to allow nightmares to take hold, but she figures more apologies aren’t really going to do anything for either of them.

 

“Oh? Why not?”

 

“I think we can tell Monica,” Maria says, truthfully, “if it would make you happy.”

 

“I-” Carol looks at the clock, then back to her partner, “You’ve been thinking about that this whole time?”

 

“We’ll need to tell her she can’t tell anyone.”

  
“I didn’t mean to stress you out...”

 

“Even more important than the superhero secret,” Maria continues, “because that one sounds like bullshit.”

 

“You don’t have to decide now.”

 

“I did.”

 

“Oh,” Carol rubs her eyes, “I- I’m glad. Thank you.”

 

Maria rubs small circles over her partner’s thigh, through her plush pajama pants. She likes it in the summer, when Carol wears little shorts to bed, and she can touch her skin directly; it seems to be calming for her, and admittedly, Maria enjoys Carol’s upper thighs quite a bit herself.

 

“You want to tell me about your dream?”

 

Carol makes a couple of short, quiet sounds which might be the beginning of quickly-abandoned words, or might just be a hitch in her breathing. She shakes her head.

 

Maria moves around to her side, slides her hand into Carol’s pants, and keeps rubbing gentle circles against Carol’s bare leg, where her fingers don't slip uselessly over the fabric.

 

“Heh,” Carol says, “is this a bribe?”

 

Maria splays her hand, resting her thumb against the inside of Carol’s thigh, and slides her arm back a little. 

 

“No...” Maria says. 

 

Carol laughs again, a weak huff of breath, and leans against Maria, pulling her knees closer to her chest.

 

Maria takes the hint, and pulls her hand away. She holds off on moving the circles to her stomach, in case Carol’s feeling weird about being touched right now, and lets her settle however she’d like into her arms.

 

“Just a nightmare,” she says, after a minute, “not a real memory or anything.”

 

“Mm.”

 

“...I love you.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Okay...” Carol wriggles, settling in more heavily against her, “and Monica.”

 

“She knows too, baby,” Maria assures her, “are you worried about leaving?”

 

“Oh,” Carol says, “maybe.”

 

“We’ll miss you,” Maria says, “but having you gone sometimes is a price I’m willing to pay to have you back.”

 

“I don’t... have to be gone, to be back.”

 

“Yes you do,” Maria says, “no way in hell you’d ever sit on your ass if you could help people.”

 

Carol says nothing.

 

“I’m just glad you wanna come back here,” Maria says, and adds quickly, “and I know you do, I’ve no doubt. It’s just nice.”

 

“It’s nice that you want me here,” Carol agrees.

 

She slides off of Maria, stuffs her pillow beneath her head, and less than discreetly inches backwards until Maria lays behind her, wrapping her arms around Carol’s waist. Carol takes gentle hold of her right hand, kisses it softly, and places it back on her thigh.

 

“That wasn’t exactly what my dream was about,” Carol mumbles, “but who cares about stupid shit my brain makes up from old memories when we’re gonna trust an 11 year old with a life-changing secret and I have to go fight aliens next week, right?”

 

“...”

 

Maria takes her hand off Carol's leg, redirecting it to pinch her in the side. 

 

Carol giggles, tickled, and lightly swats at her. 

 

"Hey," she laughs, catching Maria's hand and holding it. 

 

“You’re not helping me sleep, dumbass."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This fic is just going to amble on as long as y'all like it lol.   
> I'm very serious about the timelines and things I've guidelined in my head, so unless I want to wait a while to post some other ideas within this fic and/or do some skip ahead stuff at some point, I may just need to do what I've always said I was going to and write some other fics in the same universe. That way I can jump around but keep WBYRF on the same cozy little timeline.
> 
> I'll be putting them all under the series I placed this work in, so subscribe to that if you want to know when those post.
> 
> Thanks for reviewing so far!! Really keeps me going. If you have time, I'm always so excited to read your comments. ♥


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks for the reviews on last chapter! Hope you all had a good holiday season, to those celebrating something.
> 
> I don't get much time off work, but I accidentally hoarded about half of it, and ended up getting several days off at the end of the year. Gotta, say, it was pretty nice. I miss school breaks...
> 
> Chapter Summary: They tell Monica.  
> Chapter Warnings: References to homophobia; allusions to racism; implied/referenced child-abuse
> 
> I feel bad dropping these names in here every chapter, too, so in case it's been too long: Lynne- Maria's Mom; Henry- Maria's Dad; Dion- Maria's Brother; Bridget- Dion's wife; Elsie- Dion & Bridget's baby

“Okay Monica Baby,” Carol says, heart in her throat, “we wanna tell you something.”

 

Monica discontinues drinking her cereal milk directly from the bowl at Carol’s serious tone, looking up at her with wide eyes.

 

“No-one’s hurt or dying. Finish your milk.” Maria says, sitting heavily into the chair opposite her daughter.

  
“I... don’t wanna now,” she says, “what?”

 

“Finish your milk.”

 

Monica makes a flustered noise and slams the rest, wiping a stray drop of milk from her chin with the back of her hand. She pulls her feet onto the chair, curling into an attentive ball and leaning against the wall.

 

Carol takes the third chair from where they park it against the wall each morning to clear the passage through the kitchen, turning it around and sitting in it backwards, crossing her arms over the top of the chair and hiding her mouth behind them. Any other time it might look like a very casual and cool way to sit, but right now, Maria knows she’s hiding. Not that she can judge. The urge to match her daughter’s body language and curl into a ball is strong.

 

She’s starting to regret their decision.

 

Their perceptive daughter has picked up on their anxiety, but really, you’d have to be oblivious not to.

 

“Okay, hm,” Maria starts, “well, you know how Carol has lived here a very long time?”

 

“Are you leaving?” Monica asks, turning to Carol sharply, uncurling so fast her feet slap against the floor.

 

“No baby,” Carol mumbles, lifting her mouth from her arms, “I would like to live here forever.”

  
“Oh... good.”

 

“That’s kind of the point.”

 

Maria stares at Carol, hoping she won’t just stop there and make  _ her  _ say it... but no such luck.

 

“Yes, uhm, Carol has been here for a long time,” she repeats, “this is... her home...”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“When I was a kid I came over to your grandma’s a lot because I didn’t get along with my parents,” Carol chimes in, referencing the origin they’ve always given Monica for her being a part of the family, “but now I’m a grown woman, you know? I wouldn’t live with my parents anyway, right? I should be grown up and living with a guy or by myself or something?”

 

“Carol and I are together,” Maria says abruptly, sick of beating around the bush. The declaration almost hurts with how frightening it is after she’s said it, and one of her knees shoots up to her chest without her permission, heavy boot settling on the kitchen chair. She leans against it.

 

“We’re dating,” Carol bravely clarifies.

 

Monica stares blankly at her for a moment, wide eyes pivoting over to her mother, whose eyebrows could not be higher if she tried, awaiting Monica’s response.

 

“Uh,” Monica says, “like...”

 

She stares at a spot between them both, thinking. She’s clearly got things to say, but she doesn’t seem sure she wants to ask them.

 

“What did you say?” Monica asks.

 

“Your mom and I are dating,” Carol says again, “we’re like, married.”

 

“...Okay,” Monica nods, “Like... do...” she lowers her voice, “do you... uhh....  _ kiss _ ?”

 

“What?” Carol says, mocking puzzlement, “ _ No. _ ” 

 

Maria pulls her arm from around her knees to forcefully smack her partner on the arm.

 

“Stop confusing her.” she scolds, as Carol laughs completely inappropriately.

 

Carol almost seems to have a complete grasp on the situation, except that when Maria looks closer, she can see her whole chest trembling. 

 

She’s only seen Carol so obviously frightened like this a handful of times; once, distressingly, at an anticipated conflict with her father; another, the first time she was to fly a fighter jet solo, though she’d never have admitted it; and again right before Maria was going to give birth.

 

“We do.” Maria says curtly, mouth dry.

 

“Oh.”

 

Monica nods, pursing her lips.

 

“Questions?”

 

“Uh...” Monica thinks, “Were you always, uhm, mm?”

 

“Since right after you were born,” Carol says, breathing in again far too deeply after so few words spoken, “I tricked your mother into falling in love with me because she was pregnant-”

 

“That is not what happened.”

 

“-and if you live with your charming and beautiful best friend when pregnant, and you have a lot of these things called  _ hormones- _ we could double up and have  _ that  _ talk now too Maria- _ ” _

 

“Anyway, Monica-”

 

“-you might fall in love with her on accident  _ even though  _ she’s a woman.”

 

“You weren’t pregnant,” Monica points out.

 

“Oh, I’m just a lesbian.” Carol says, point-blank.

 

Monica sputters with surprised childish giggles, leaning forward against her knees, and Carol responds in kind, eyes crinkling beautifully, but chest still vibrating a little in terror.

 

“Is that okay?” Carol says, when Monica gets over the moment and looks rather serious.

 

“I guess?”

 

Monica stares at the floor, her hands clenching her pajama pants. Half of her face scrunches up as she seems to consider the question.

 

“Why?” Monica asks.

 

Maria asks her to clarify. She doesn’t answer.

 

“I just am,” Carol says, hoping she is responding to the right question, “and your mom is the best person I have ever met in my whole life... so if I wasn’t, I would want to be.”

 

“And uhm, well... you like your Auntie Carol, right?” Maria asks, “She wouldn’t live here, if we... weren’t.”

 

“You could live here anyway.”

 

“Not really,” Carol says, “your mom could have married a dude instead.”

 

“Hm...”

 

“Do you... want that?”

 

Monica shakes her head.

 

Maria takes over the conversation again, so Carol stops accidentally grilling their daughter on her feelings towards lesbians. She’s sure Monica’s never thought too critically about it, so she wants to give her a little room to do so before they ask her again. 

 

She tells Monica that her parents, and Dion, and Bridget all know, but Carol’s family doesn’t, and the neighbors don’t, and no-one else does and that they are not allowed to know.

 

She expresses that they really can’t tell anyone at all, that this is even more important than the aliens thing, because people could put them in danger if they knew.

 

Monica listens uncomfortably, and Maria wonders if this was too much of a burden for her at this age. Still, the idea of Monica accidentally outing them in her obliviousness was becoming too much of a stress, so she may just have to burden her with this. She has been taught about racism, and sexism, and the death of a parent... though that one did not stick. This is just one more hard lesson that comes with life.

 

“Do you understand?” Maria asks.

 

Monica nods. Her lip wobbles.

 

Maria’s heart aches at the sight.

 

“Thank you for being such a big strong girl we can trust,” Carol says, voice a little choked.

 

Monica nods, and a tear drips from her glassy eyes. She wipes at it, embarrassed.

 

“Are you worried because you can’t tell anyone?” Maria asks, softly.

 

Monica shrugs.

 

“Okay,” Carol says, “how’s this. I’ll let you tell one person, okay?”

 

Maria tries to meet her eye, but Carol is looking steadily at Monica, smiling easily as she leans around the chair to swipe a thumb over their daughter’s wet cheek. Monica makes watery eye contact, curious.

 

“I’ll let you tell Talos, okay?”

 

Talos already knows. Monica, who does not know this, nods.

 

“Okay,” Carol says, “I’ll be right back and we can call.”

 

She leaves the room, and does not come back for several minutes. It should have taken her only a minute to run up the stairs and come back, but she does not reappear in the doorframe. Maria watches the spot where she should enter, hands on her knees, and waits. She thinks of Carol closing herself into their room upstairs, letting out her anxiety in a good cry, and feels her throat tighten, feels mad that she does not have the opportunity to do the same.

 

Carol reappears in the doorway. Her cheeks are a bit pink. The poor woman can never really hide it.

 

“Okay,” she says, waving them towards the living room. She sets the device on the coffee table, and rings Talos.

 

“Hello,” Talos answers quickly, friendly, and seems to be alone in some corner of the ship.

 

Maria wonders now if Carol also took the time to warn him that she was going to do this.

 

“Monica wants to tell you something,” Carol says, “do you have a minute?”

 

“Sure!” Talos smiles.

 

Carol inches away, sitting practically on the arm of the couch. One asscheek is firmly off the cushion, and her hips are at an angle. Her body language is small as she tries to give Monica the space she needs. Maria remains standing. Monica says nothing.

 

“Do you want to tell me in private?” Talos asks kindly. Monica nods.

 

Maria does not need to be told twice. She breathes a sigh of relief and bolts, flying up the stairs and into her room and sitting on the floor on Carol’s side of the bed, away from the door, curling into the full ball her limbs have been aching for.

 

Carol joins her a minute later, quietly sliding next to her and pulling her, sobbing, to her chest.

 

“She loves you,” Carol says, kissing her temple, “and she won’t tell anyone.”

 

“I know,” Maria says twice, to each.

 

“Now our whole family knows,” Carol says, softly not by choice but because the whispered statement is all she can manage.

 

“Mm...”

 

“We should find a way to have Talos over for dinner again,” Carol says, “I... almost  _ relaxed _ , around him. He so genuinely, so genuinely does not give a shit.”

 

Maria huffs, into her chest.

 

“The Kree didn’t care either. I was like... out on Hala, ‘cause I didn’t even know I was supposed to hide it.”

 

Maria remembers. Carol had casually dated a couple of women during her time on Hala. She also tried to woo Minn-Erva, but got shot down. Maria shot Minn-Erva down too, she thinks, very inappropriately. Too callous, but they did also kidnap her wife for 6 years.

 

They sit upstairs for almost an hour, approaching the time when Maria’s mother was supposed to call and warn them they were on their way, when there is a gentle knock at their bedroom door.

 

Maria has stopped crying long enough ago, but she pats her face to check and glances at Carol before calling for Monica to open it.

 

Monica steps in and looks around their room for a moment- their shared dresser, their shared bed, their shared closet, the picture of a younger Carol leaning over an arcade game at Pancho’s on Maria’s nightstand. She clutches the communicator in both hands. It’s off.

 

“How was Talos?” Carol asks.

 

“Good,” Monica says, eagerly, “I told him you were, uh,  _ married. _ ”

 

“Oh? You think he’s still my friend?”

 

“Yeah!” She says, smiling, “He says it’s okay. The Skrulls are lesbians a lot too.”

 

“Mm?”

 

“Talos says he dated other  _ boys  _ before,” Monica tells them, “But Ms Soren is a girl and they’re married. But then he said that the Skrulls don’t really care if you’re a boy or a girl because they’re shapeshifters.”

 

“Oh yeah?” 

 

“Then I talked to Kalae,” Monica continues; Maria thinks this was a genius idea on Carol’s part, “she said she already knew you were married! And she didn’t know it was a secret.”

 

“Did you tell her why it was a secret?” Maria asks carefully, hoping Monica absorbed the lesson.

 

“Yeah, I said it was dangerous. She asked me if it was like being a Skrull, but... I don’t know.”

 

Carol shrugs.

 

“I think she can empathize with us,” Maria says, “even though it is different.”

 

“I don’t think you should hide it.” Monica says, confidently.

 

“We gotta, baby,” Maria says, “and the Skrulls have to hide too. It’s not fair but it’s life.”

 

“I know...” Monica sighs, after a moment, “I won’t tell anyone.”

 

“Thanks, Lieutenant Trouble,” Carol says, snatching the edge of her pants as she comes close, pulling her over and letting her collapse heavily into her lap.

 

Carol holds her tightly, pressing several kisses to her forehead.

 

“I feel really really lucky to be with your mom,” she whispers earnestly, “and a really big part of that is having you as a kid.”

 

Monica looks up at her with wide eyes.

 

“Are you my stepmom?”

 

“Yeah, I guess.”

  
“Like in Cinderella?”

 

“...No...” Carol scrunches her nose, “Hey you know I’m your Godmom  _ and  _ your Stepmom. That’s mom 2 times. I’m actually beating Maria.”

 

Monica giggles.

 

“No-one’s beating me at anything,” Maria frowns. Monica pats her knee.

 

The phone on their dresser rings.

 

Carol shifts, gathering Monica and dumping her in Maria’s lap, before standing to answer. Maria pushes the girl onto her feet instead of letting her settle there, telling her it’s time to get dressed.

 

Monica nods, grabbing at Maria’s arm to indicate she’d like her to come with.

 

She does, quietly, gently touching Carol’s arm as they pass.

 

She follows her daughter out of the room she shares with her partner, and sits on her bed, waiting for the girl to talk as she picks out her clothes.

 

“I thought Carol was like a mom,” Monica says, after a minute, coming out of the closet with jeans and a turquoise long sleeved shirt with little flowers sewn into it, “but... I guess... I didn’t think...”

 

Monica giggles a little, embarrassed. 

 

“Yeah,” Maria smiles, embarrassed as well.

 

“It’s okay though,” she reassures her mother, like she has just decided for sure.

 

“Thank you,” Maria whispers.

 

Monica looks at her uncomfortably again, and finishes fastening her jeans so she can walk over and hug her. She caught Maria crying more than once over Carol in the years after her plane went down, and it’s the same hug; long, but held at a strange angle as if it’s going to be brief, with hard circles rubbed into her back, like she’s trying to emulate the way Maria comforts her when she’s crying over something small, but with much more strength put into it.

 

She lets go, and turns to take off her shirt, putting on the new one and walking to the dresser to put a flashy barrette into her hair. Maria immediately unfastens it when she comes back, repinning it so it looks a little nicer, though it is still not really holding any functional purpose, and her hair is covering half of it. Carol bought the clip for her at Monica’s request; Maria thinks she saw a kid wearing it on a TV show.

 

“So I can tell Uncle Dion?”

 

“If you want. He knows, and your Grandma and Papa, and Auntie Bridget.”

 

They’ll have to lay ground rules around baby Elsie at some point- ground rules being that she can’t know- but that won’t be relevant for a while.

 

“They’re pulling up!” Carol calls from downstairs, to Maria’s surprise; they must have actually left right after calling, for once.

 

She hasn’t made anything to eat but... fuck it. They can just order Chinese, or something, and tip them extra for the long drive. She’s exhausted, and doesn’t really want to deal with her family at the moment, but Carol had suggested that they tell Monica before she went back to school, and that the presence of other family members who knew about them might not be such a bad thing.

 

She greets them each as they come in and when Monica follows Carol and Dion into the living room, Maria’s mother takes her face in her hands and asks Maria how it went.

 

Carol must have told her then, when she called. No wonder they hustled.

 

“It was good,” Maria whispers.

 

Her mother looks down the hall and nods, patting Maria on her hip- and kind of her butt- in reassurance, like she used to do when Maria was little after she’d fallen down. Maria does the same now as she had done then, takes comfort in her mother’s presence, and continues towards her next tumble.

 

She sits next to Dion on the couch, not next to Carol, and avoids eye contact with Bridget, and her father, tensed for whatever comment Monica may choose to make to acknowledge for the very first time, with her whole family in the room, that Maria is married to a woman.

 

It doesn’t come immediately. They talk like normal, with the adults dominating the conversation. Often they just forget to include the child for most of it, occasionally rotating to a topic she can join in on, but today they are rotating that way much more often, bringing up school next week, and her favorite TV shows, and what her favorite part of the break was. And Monica is more quiet than normal, snapped out of thoughts each and every time they say her name, instead of boredly half listening or clearly entertaining herself with something different.

 

The first real acknowledgement, though it is not explicitly spoken as such, is when she refers to her Auntie Carol and gets no further in completing her thought. She doesn’t pause, in that a pause necessitates speaking after. She just... stops.

 

“Yeah Mon?” Dion says, smiling the dazzling cute grin that had girls fawning over him in high school.

 

Monica looks at Carol, mouth open just slightly, like she is going to speak.

 

“Auntie Carol,” Maria’s mother says, always one to acknowledge the elephant in the room like it’s not supposed to be a secret at all, “she’s still your Auntie Carol. She is older than you and you respect her and that makes her your Auntie.”

 

Monica nods, and finishes telling them that Auntie Carol was playing on the guitar Dion bought her last night. Dion inquires more, and they talk about music for a bit, and when the conversation about that finishes, Maria’s mother decides to round out the last one.

 

“So Monica,” she begins, and they all know the gist of what she is about to say.

 

Maria cannot physically look in the direction of Bridget. She’s not sure why the poor woman is the biggest source of stress for her at the moment, but something in her feels like they’ve dragged her unwillingly into lesbian drama.

 

Bridget’s family though, she supposes, and Maria would feel a bit hurt if anyone tried to exclude Carol from anything.

 

She takes a breath and turns to meet her sister-in-law’s eye as her mother asks Monica point-blank if she knows she can’t tell anyone that Maria and Carol are together.

 

Bridget smiles warmly at her. It feels so genuine that Maria finds herself even smiling back. Bridget takes this as an invitation of sorts to stand, handing baby Elsie off to Henry in the armchair and moving to sit beside Maria.

 

“I know I talked to-” Monica stutters and Maria wonders if her hesitation is over the revelation that she actually did  _ immediately _ tell someone else, but her grandmother can’t know, “-t-to  _ Auntie Carol _ . _ ”  _ she recovers, feigning her weird pause as more weirdness over Carol’s title. 

 

Smart girl, Maria thinks. She’ll be good at holding this secret. That’ll be a problem when she’s a secret-holding teen, but for right now Maria can breathe a sigh of relief.

 

“What did your Auntie Carol tell you?” Maria’s mother grills.

 

“Uh, that it’s kinda like racism,” Monica answers, still evidently recounting her conversation with Talos’ daughter Kalae; they had discussed whether being gay was like being a Skrull, which she supposes paralleled a conversation Monica had had with Kalae previously about whether being a Skrull is like being Black.

 

“Uh huh...”

 

“For uh, empathizing.” Monica says, repeating Maria’s moral lesson that discrimination is hard to compare to other discrimination, but that it all allows those who experience it to empathize with those who experience it for different reasons... only, repeated completely unintelligibly.

 

“Uh huh...”

 

Carol throws her hands up a little in a sort of loose shrug, and smiles resignedly at whatever she is being quoted on that she did not say at all. Maria giggles; Monica giggles too.

 

“What?” Lynne asks Carol directly instead, shaking her head.

 

“I have no idea,” Carol laughs, and Maria and Monica giggle more.

 

Dion smiles like he’s in on the joke, picking up as he often does after laughter in the room, even that which he does not understand.

 

“We passed a lot of cows on the way here,” Bridget says, completely out of the blue.

 

She smiles at Maria with kind eyes as she pulls the conversation out of Lynne’s hands and away from the topic that is rattling Maria so. Maria really likes this woman.

 

“We never had them in Miami, and I don’t hardly see them around Georgia, because we live pretty much in the city,” she continues, “I’m gonna miss them when we leave.”

 

“I like the cows,” Monica agrees, “Mom always tells Auntie Carol not to crash when we’re driving and she’s staring at them.”

 

Bridget laughs, and adds, “I’m glad I wasn’t driving; I was totally staring. They have this funny little box out there in one of the fields for warmth I guess. I said it looked like they were in Confessional.”

 

“Bridget’s not Catholic, so she’s been real enamoured with Confessional since we made her go to church here.”

 

“Catholics outside Louisiana are mostly White,” Bridget tells Monica, “opposite here I guess; what are you Carol?”

 

“New Orleans Catholic,” she says, nodding seriously at Lynne to indicate that she is as much to appease Maria’s mother, then adds, “but my folks were Protestant.”

 

“Do they mind you switching?”

 

“Probably would if they knew,” Carol says, “we don’t really talk.”

 

“Mm,” Bridget says, “because of...?”

 

“No, they don’t know I’m uh... gay. Well, not for sure. They suspect it.” Carol answers, and Monica appreciates the effort she is making to try to bring up her sexuality casually in front of Monica, “They’re just uh... my dad’s not great.”

 

“Mm...”

 

A different kind of uncomfortable threatens to break into the room.

 

“What do you think cows admit to in Confessional?” Maria’s father, Henry, asks.

 

“Moorder,” Dion replies, not missing a beat.

 

They laugh, around the room, and Lynne shakes her head, smiling.

 

“A-bull-tery?” Maria tries.

 

“Eh,” Dion says.

 

“Not as good,” Lynne agrees.

 

“Psh,  _ ok-ay, _ ” Maria says, as Monica snickers quite a bit at their disapproval, “tough crowd.” 

 

“I know what sins cows would need to confess in Confessional,” Carol says, deadpan.

 

“Oh, Carol’s making a  _ joke _ ,” Dion says, leaning forward exaggeratedly onto his knees, “All ears, go on.”

 

A beat.

 

“Missing church,” she says.

 

There is silence in the room, broken abruptly by the sound of only Maria laughing. It is a full laugh that makes her throw back her head, the kind Carol is very good at getting out of her.

 

Carol’s mouth twitches only slightly. Maria has always loved her jokes in a way no-one else has.

 

“What, man?” Dion laughs too now, but not because he found what Carol said at all funny.

 

“I have to confess it, when I go; it’s a sin.” Carol says, “You think that cow’s been to church lately?”

 

Maria laughs, harder.

 

“You know what a joke is??” Dion asks.

 

“Pre-marital... affairs,” Carol continues to list actual sins that cows commit, “not praying everyday...”

 

Monica laughs too, at the sound of her mother losing it.

 

“Affiliation with the occult,” Carol slips in there, and Maria hates that it works to make her laugh harder, “Gluttony.”

 

“Cow-lumny,” Maria’s mother says, at last, ignoring Carol’s list.

 

“That’s a good one,” Henry appraises, in his rumbling deep voice.

 

“What’s that?” Bridget asks, chuckling as Maria wipes at her eyes.

 

“Telling lies about other people,” Lynne answers.

 

Maria grins lovingly at her wife, eyelashes a bit wet from laugh-crying. She’d never trade such a perfect person for a life without this stress; there would just be different stress, she supposes.

 

When she looks at Monica, her daughter is smiling contentedly at her, happy to see her mother so happy. She glances at Carol, then back, giving her mother two little thumbs-ups, fists resting against her criss-crossed ankles.

 

It’s gonna be alright, Maria thinks, and thumbs-ups her daughter back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought?  
> The comments have been a great, great motivator for me. Nice to know so many people are engaged! Thank you all.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> Space chapter, again, but I tried to mix it up with some home perspectives too. Gotta remember this is a Captain Marvel fic every once in a while. We'll go back to regular programming soon. 
> 
> Chapter Summary: Carol fights space fascists, and Maria considers her aspirations  
> Chapter Warnings: non-graphic violence from a Star War
> 
> Thanks everybody for keeping up with this!

When Carol was a little girl she had a telescope.

 

It was the best gift she ever got, one birthday from her parents. When her brother Steve was alive, stargazing was a hobby they shared together- his attempt to bond with her over something which fascinated her so clearly. After he died, she often thought of her brother when gazing up at the night skies, his imprint on a hobby that had initially been her own.

 

She had always thought they lived in the middle of nowhere in Massachusetts, a small, poor beach town an hour outside of Boston, but Louisiana was a different story altogether. Once she adjusted to driving 20 minutes just to get milk from the grocery store, Carol loved it. With less light pollution, there were twice as many stars at night.

 

She thinks bringing her telescope over to Maria was her first expression of love; an attempt to more intimately share her passions with her new friend, as if the dark, indiscernible sky were Carol and the proffered telescope were an invitation to look more clearly. 

 

Later, they’d drive out into the edge of the desert together, and lay out against the hood and windshield of Carol’s car. Carol would look at the stars above, and look at Maria, and she’d find Maria more beautiful, and she’d want to kiss her. For once, she wouldn’t feel bad about the thought, just look back at the stars and wish to touch them and wish to touch  _ her _ and understand that she could do neither, but that looking was still nice.

 

Time is hard to measure in the units it is assigned. In what feels like a lifetime later, but is only 5 years, Carol sits in the yard with  _ their daughter _ , and repeats a story told to her by her older brother, once upon a time. 

 

Now, she's looking at the stars alone. It’s not night, because it is never night in space, though it always feels like it to her. A never-ending one that obscures her perception of how much time she is spending away from her family.

 

It is beautiful though. More than she had even pictured, and she had pictured it often. In Star Wars, space had been beautiful because it was so  _ big _ , a clustered collection of stars implying a depth hard to even process. They were right about that, but they missed the  _ color. _ Other than the tinted twinkle of distant planets and stars, most of the color in space is red and blue, like watercolors bleeding across emptiness.

 

Talos claims he can see more colors than that out here. He jokingly mocks her lesser human vision, but she feels a genuine pang of disappointment that she can’t see it through his eyes.

 

Still, she can’t complain. Now that she has a good portion of her memories back, thinking on her achievements versus her aspirations leaves her almost breathless. She’s got space, and she’s got Maria, and Monica was like a little surprise she didn’t even know she wanted, but which she now cannot imagine life without.

 

Ever since she was little, Carol wanted to be an astronaut; it was an idea proposed by Steve one starry night, furthered by her youthful love of Star Wars, and discouraged by her misogynistic, killjoy of a father. As she grew older, the desire stuck around, based less in a fantasy of cool space adventures with aliens, but in something more realistic.

 

If only she knew. 

 

Carol thinks maybe she’s  _ too _ good at wishing for things; she wanted Star Wars and she sure fucking got it. 

 

While the career aspiration was still born from her love of space, Carol also knew it would be a money-making career, something which appealed heavily to her, as a woman back then with no intention of getting married [to a man].

 

That part did not come true. No money in this, Carol thinks, running her fingers over the strings of the guitar in her hands as she peers outside into the starry expanse. 

 

A quiet hum vibrates under her fingertips, but she cannot hear it over the much louder, constant humming of the ship. 

 

She plucks out a simple tune on a loop, warming up until she gains enough focus to try to play from a book of sheet music she’d bought on earth.

 

Maria’s parents think she’s on a business trip. It’s not completely untrue, but it certainly implies she’s getting paid a lot more than the  _ nothing _ she makes out here. They think she is being a good spouse, sacrificing her time at home to take care of her family. 

 

She is taking care of families, just not hers. It’s not as if she does any of this because she wants something back, but it would be nice to be able to use her time away to help Maria with the stress of paying the bills each month. 

 

Their kettle drips hot water all over the ground when it’s poured. She watched Maria casually move her foot out of the way the other day, like it is a natural part of making tea. It’s broken, but not broken enough to justify the expense to fix it, just like their absence of a dishwasher or their loud, alarming-sounding washing machine, kept alive by Maria's mechanical skills but still too old to expect anything from.

 

Neither of them grew up with much money, so neither of them really  _ expect  _ to replace failing appliances at the snap of a finger, but it would be nice to at least think about it. She’d like to have the  _ option _ to save up enough money over time to contribute more to Monica’s college fund, or help Lynne and Henry out with some expenses after all they did for her. She used to dream of earning a good salary, and using it to buy Maria's parents a new car one day. That wasn't happening anytime soon. 

 

Carol flips open her sheet music, thumbing through it until she settles on a Fleetwood Mac song, and peers at the notes, slowly chipping at the strings and matching the tune to the one in her head. 

 

She's made good friends out here, but she's been donating all the gifts and resources offered to her from governments grateful for her presence to the Skrull refugee fund. It's the right thing to do, but it's also not like alien money or presents can help her pay the electricity bill back home. 

 

She's thought of installing the fairly common power tech from out here into her home lines, putting them on a self-sufficient microgrid, but she's also not looking to garner unwanted attention. 

 

At the very least, Carol thinks, she could sell it to Fury. Maybe they can progress human infrastructure, and Fury can quietly cut Maria a check. She sees no harm in that. Carol frowns, thinking. She doesn't even need any equipment, just some translated blueprints. 

 

They'd probably pay pretty well for holograms and shit, too. She won't give anyone weapons, but common holograms and clean energy can only benefit Earth, right?

 

Long as the government doesn’t come after them for  _ more _ .

 

She starts the song over. 

 

\--

 

Maria beats her hands absentmindedly against the side of her plane, following along to the familiar tune coming over the radio as she thinks.

 

With Carol off in space, and Monica off at school, Maria’s happy to have a new project to tackle, especially one as frustrating as this.

 

She stares at the engine, running through all the reasons it may be rattling unhealthily that she hasn’t already tried to solve. She rests her head against the cool metal of the plane as the song ends, wrapping both hands around the edge of the panel.

 

Ever since she was a little girl, she liked engines.

 

Her dad always took the time whenever he was doing anything handy to slow down and show her how everything worked. He taught her how to drill, spackle, stop a leak, change a flat tire, and fix an engine. When he lost his job for a short while, and her mom was the only one working, he took over all the cooking, cleaning, and sewing, which he made sure to teach his kids about, too.

 

She knows now that some amount of his handiness was reflective of their not being very wealthy; their car broke so much because it was old, and he had to take over all the “domestic work” because her mom was taking extra shifts to make up for their lack of income- not that he was leaving it all to her before. Still, the lessons allowed Maria quality time with her father that she’ll cherish for the rest of her life, and the skills she learned from him have left her a competent and well-rounded person.

 

Working on the car was always her favorite part. Ironically, her brother hated it, said it was too complicated, and greasy, and sometimes it smelled funny. Maria liked the puzzle of it all, the tricks you could employ by even merely listening to quickly determine a simple failing in a complicated piece of machinery. 

 

When she joined the Air Force with Carol, her goal had always been to eventually transfer into the engineering department, to fix planes and maybe someday even earn the qualifications to design them. She was taken by an unexpected passion for flying once she learned how, and took a break from her long-term plan to work with her love in the test-pilot program. Other than the benefit of spending time with Carol, it was a great place to earn a higher rank, and Wendy Lawson provided an inclusive work environment she could not match anywhere else.

 

Carol’s plane crash had spooked her. Other than the great personal loss of her partner, Maria came face-to-face with how dangerous the job could be, and couldn’t do that to Monica. So when the USAF offered her some hush-money to quietly take a discharge and a recommendation letter, Maria took it, moving back home and setting up as a mechanic.

 

The planes are her favorite thing to repair, but she only gets the business sometimes from the local airport. Otherwise, she’s mostly fixing cars or big trucks, usually driving out to people’s houses or the sides of roads.

 

She’s considered calling up Fury, but with Carol back, Maria’s been hesitant to mix things up too much. 

 

Still, they could use the money.

 

Maria taps her foot along to the beat of a new song as the radio switches away from ads, and starts on a new solution.

 

\--

 

They land several hours later on a space station above one of the largest trading hubs in the galaxy, a place called Syhnnn. There's potentially hundreds of Skrulls making a living here, rumor says, disguised as aliens of all types. Talos opts to come to the planet as his "true self", a message to those who see him that the Skrull will hide no longer, and a way to encourage any disguised Skrulls they may meet to out themselves and come with.  

 

His controversial appearance holds them up at customs for quite a while, but ultimately, the presence of Captain Marvel, the ex-Kree freedom fighter now famous for her retaliation against the oppressive fascist regime of Hala, allows them to continue down onto the planet below. 

 

Carol is teaching Talos the phrase, “Welcome Wagon” when they are retrieved by their temporary holding cell by the president of the planet herself. She bows her head to Carol, seemingly ignoring her companion until deciding it may be diplomatic to include him. In her attempt to please the Captain, she goes so far as to respectfully greet the Skrull with a head touch, temple to temple as opposed to the forehead nuzzle reserved for family and close friends.

 

She reaches past Carol's extended hand to grasp her forearm in a shake, as is Kree custom. Carol does not correct her, content to let people assume she is a Kree mutt with no ties to anywhere except those broken ones from Hala. 

 

The President asks after their purpose here and Talos lies, telling her they are hoping the traders on the surface may have encountered Skrulls in their travels. He does not wish to alarm her by implying their are secretly Skrulls living among her people; the knowledge tends to unsettle people. 

 

Carol does as she is best at and says nothing, arms crossed. She often gives the appearance of being a bodyguard to the general, though Talos has tried his best to make it clear to her and everyone else that she outranks him. 

 

"Commander," he says to Carol, to establish this now, "what was it you were hoping to find at the market?"

 

"Just some blueprints," she says, "on basic energy systems, holograms... for the refugee children to use in their studies."

 

"Of course Commander," the President says, "I would love to personally supply you with curriculum materials. Would you like anything else?"

 

 "You may call me Carol," she answers, smiling long enough to hopefully appear friendly before shifting back to her usual stoic expression, "and I would love to take any other science you could spare. Nothing that could be used at all build weapons, please, I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea of what we are teaching these kids. Just basic infrastructure kinda stuff."

 

Talos nods, smiling. Carol proposed that she may one day consider giving Fury some clean energy blueprints, and it was Talos' idea to couple it with their ongoing mission to provide the Skrulls and other refugees with good learning materials. He even suggested she take some course materials home for Monica, an idea which pleased Carol quite a bit. She could learn to build that spaceship, just like she told Fury she would. 

 

"Of course, Car-Ell," the woman smiles, "we would love to help you with that."

 

She nods to one of the people standing beside her and they run off to acquire what she has asked for. 

 

"While we are on the subject of helping each other," the President says, completely expectedly, "I wanted to tell you about a problem we've been having.”

 

Talos' team did their research before sending them to this planet. It is always a good idea to know what people may want from you before they ask, and the problem of space pirates wreaking havoc on the planet's water runs is no big secret. 

 

The President tells them about the problem in more detail than they were able to gain from gossip streams, and nothing about the story sets off any alarm bells in Carol's mind. She'd asked Talos' people to make sure there was no quiet history of this planet stealing the water from anywhere else, or stories of the pirates taking the water to save their own lands. 

 

More research confirmed that as far as they could tell, this planet was melting ice from its uninhabited moon, cleaning it, and shipping it to other planets at as reasonable a price as capitalism could manage. The pirates were stealing the resource and selling it and a much higher price. 

 

She'd do her own investigation of course, but this certainly seemed like a reasonable enough way to make friends. 

 

"We'd love to help you out with that," Carol says.

 

\--

 

Maria stares at the phone in the quiet, empty kitchen, a glass of iced tea and some reheated leftovers before her.

 

She could call Fury just to ask.

 

She taps her fork against her plate, takes a sip of iced tea.

 

Might be fun to catch up with the man. He wanted to be friends, she’s just going to call to see how he’s doing.

 

Maria sighs.

 

She knows she should ask Carol first. Her partner has had a weird reluctance to let the man know she’s been back. Maria thinks she’s worried what the non-Fury government members would do if they knew someone like Carol was just living on Earth.

 

Maria could just call and say she’s not seen Carol lately, but in case Fury somehow knows she’s returned, it’s probably best not to establish herself as someone who’d lie to him.

 

\--

 

There is always more to every story, Carol finds.

 

It's a basic fact of life, from the dishonest way History is taught in American schools, to the full and long-spanning story of the Kree-Skrull conflict, to the various facades Carol employs at home and in space to keep her family safe, to the space-pirates stealing water from an intergalactic trading hub. 

 

The good news for Carol is that for once, she's on the right side of this bigger story. 

 

This was far from a disorganized-but-surprisingly-powerful band of criminals managing to steal water shipment after water shipment from above the noses of prone, slaughtered guards. After a good couple weeks of research and trailing that kept her away from her home for far longer already than she'd have liked, Carol uncovers what seems to be a minor conspiracy.

 

Syhnnn, the trading hub Carol was currently contracted to protect in exchange for alliance with the Skrulls, had recently embargoed all trade to the solar system over, made up of several united governments with a bad history of seizing resources from other planets and working with colonizers like the Kree where it served their interests. 

 

Syhnnn had posited itself for years as an apolitical entity, and still did its best to do so, but at some point decisions must be made to serve the greatest number of customers, and an embargo against the system quieted the growing protests from trading partners opposing the United System Under The Twin Star. Their abbreviation in their actual language sounded something like CASUG, though Carol did not know which sound aligned to which word when translated.

 

CASUG, in their best attempt to regain partnership with Syhnnn, offered discounted military contracting services to the trading system, but was refuted. 

 

Carol's proposal of the connection between the space-pirates and embargo does not seem to shake the president of Syhnnn, who smiles wisely and merely shrugs; Carol gets the idea she'd made this connection from the beginning, but accusations like that from government leaders can start wars.  

 

So Captain Marvel does what she does best, and riles up her second fascist government. 

  
  


\--

 

“There’s my little girl,” Carol greets, smiling widely as Monica answers the phone, “how was school today baby?”

 

“It’s Saturday, Auntie Carol.”

 

“...Oh,” Carol frowns, “already?”

 

“Yeah,” Monica says, “all day. Why didn’t you call last night?”

 

Carol apologies, and after greeting Maria, updates them both on what she’s been up to, most recently partnering with a local government to shoo CASUG soldiers out of their major cities and trading posts. 

 

It had, unsurprisingly, been an all-day and all-night effort that required an initial show of force from Carol and then her presence as a warning while the planet’s government reengaged their defense systems.

 

She left tired and anxious, worried they would try to retaliate, and annoyed that she had not been able to call her family that she hadn’t seen in over a month.

 

Monica updates her on school, chattering about a project she’s working on in science. Carol resists the urge to spoil the surprise about the blueprints, excited for the time when she can watch her and Maria pour over the documents.

 

Monica eventually wishes Carol a good night, asking her to please come home soon, and pads off to bed, leaving Carol looking stricken the moment her daughter can’t see.

 

Maria greets her again, softly, and reminds her how much she misses her; she’s adding to the wounds, but she can’t help it.

 

“I miss you too,” Carol says earnestly, frowning, “I love you so much.”

 

“I love you too...” Maria says, smiling sadly, “You’ll be home sooner than you know it.”

 

“I sure hope so,” Carol sighs, “I’m hesitant to leave with everyone so on edge out here... They were on edge before, but I’m definitely both helping  _ and _ making things worse if I don’t follow through.”

 

Carol vents for a little while, glad for the space to be vulnerable with her one person, and wipes frustrated tears from her eyes. Maria watches her seriously, insisting again that she really misses her, and wishes she could kiss her, and hold her, and soothe her.

  
Carol’s body aches with the simple urge to be held in her wife’s strong arms.

 

Maria changes the subject, aware it’s making them both a little too emotional. Carol has not really assured them she was coming home soon, so she worries it will be a while.

 

“I was thinking of calling Fury,” she says.

 

“Oh?”

 

“To ask about that job.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Maria stares at her for a moment, before adding, “Please say more.”

 

“Uh,” Carol says, “well, you can do what you want?”

 

“I don’t want to do what I want,” Maria says, “I want to do what we want.”

 

“I want you to be happy.”

 

“Okay...” Maria says, “...I want to get my engineering degree, like I always planned... since we don’t have enough money for me to do that now, I think I need a new job.”

 

Carol nods, silently.  Maria, knowing the way she is, tries not to internalize her silence, and continues.

 

“I don’t really want to move,” Maria assures her, “but I do want to at least talk to him.” 

 

“Is it just about the money for school?” Carol asks, looking guilty.

 

“I want to know what the offer is, at least,” Maria says, “And I mean it about staying put, if he’ll let me. And If I ever start school, I can easily drive the hour or so into the city a couple times a week.”

 

“I’ll go with you,” Carol says, after a moment, and smiles briefly, “I can hang out while you learn, and you can teach me stuff on the way home.”

 

“...It’s alright then?” 

 

“Of course, honey.”

 

Maria smiles sweetly at her.

  
“Oh I want to be home,” Carol says, “Oh. Fuck this.”

 

“Just a little longer,” Maria laughs, “what should I tell Fury if he asks about you?”

 

“Tell him I’m in space,” Carol says, “it’s the truth. Oh, and see if you can learn anything about who he’s told about me...”

 

“Like he’s gonna tell me anything,” Maria tsks, “I like the man, but he’s still an ex-spy.”

 

“Yeah.” Carol sighs, wondering again what she should share with him, then asks, “You ever fix that plane out in the yard?”

 

Maria’s eyes light up at the question, excited to share her solution.

 

God, Carol loves her.

 

\--

 

Were it only the water shipments, Carol may have left the issue alone, but unfortunately the more she uncovered about the actions of CASUG, the more she felt obligated to help. 

 

Leaders in nearby systems practically threw themselves at her feet, asking for her help to rid them of the CASUG soldiers that had been forcefully stationed in their lands. 

 

Carol had enough to deal with already, with the Kree, but this smaller regime and the Kree had a number of alliances, so if Carol was lucky, taking out their strongholds may send a strong message all around. 

 

Don't Fuck With Innocents.

 

In life, few conflicts are black and white. Different immoral acts mixing together from 2 parties often cause shades of grey that make clear answers difficult to come by. 

 

To decide whether or not to get involved then, Carol was employing what she referred to as the Death Star rule. 

 

In Star Wars, the Sith were the bad guys. The movie wanted you to know they were the bad guys, without question, which is why they looked like nazis, and why Vader has the Death Star, a planet-destroying ship with no good justification for its existence. 

 

Carol's rule, then. You act like nazis or build a Death Star, she kills you, destroys your weapons. Easy peasy. 

 

She spent the coming month pushing CASUG soldiers out of their bases on these planets, ignoring their useless gunfire and ensuring they had no weapons to return for.  She received what amounted to a cease and desist from the government, but they seemed hesitant to challenge her directly. Her intel assured her that attacks of retaliation against innocents for Captain Marvel's actions would force the neighboring planets currently turning a blind eye to get involved against the system, so they were somewhat safe to keep acting. 

 

They came to a head two months after Carol's leave from Earth. CASUG had moved almost immediately on news of a small, poor planet discovering a mine of vibranium, the universe's most prized metal. The English expression "goldmine" was a massive understatement. 

 

Carol is told about the invasion by the president of Syhnnn, as soon as the woman herself finds out about it. She’d love to think it’s out of a moral imperative to help, but she suspects it’s more of an attempt at first rights to the trading deal. 

 

"I am not affiliated with you," Carol warns her, while Talos cringes, needing the politician's support, "I'm gonna help, but this was my decision. Don't go telling people you had anything to do with it. I'm not doing it to win you business."

 

"Of course, Captain." 

 

As usual, her strong poker face betrays no sign of her actual feelings. Carol doesn’t really care right now if she had offended her anyway.

 

The planet is not significantly larger than a moon, mostly desert on one side, lush rainforest on the other. A concentration of lights lines the small median strip between the two harsh terrains. There’s a break in the cluster of lights, the atmosphere over that spot tinged with smoke from fresh ruins. From up in space, the area looks miniscule, but Carol knows that distant speck contained thousands of people.  

 

CASUG ships surround the planet's full perimeter, like satellites. Another cluster of ships approaches, a heavy-duty warship trailing behind. 

 

Carol wastes no time in flying to the biggest cluster of lights in the strip, finding what most in this part of the galaxy would call a primitive, cheap city, but which sort of reminds her of Washington DC. There are no skyscrapers, but the buildings look sturdy, and some were even ornately carved.

 

The area is flooded with people, evacuees from the destroyed town who were lucky enough to get away from the destruction of the first "warning" shot. 

 

Several communicators and cameras come into people's hands as Captain Marvel touches down. It was surreal to her how famous she had become already, but with advanced technology allowing most people to digitally record from their pocket on a whim, and the significance of her feud with the Kree from an area plagued commonly by them, the news of her strength and purpose had spread quickly, to great reception from the common people. 

 

Carol doesn’t have to wait long after landing. Soon, as she was becoming accustomed to these days, her mere presence summons the leader of this city, a spindly alien with a tough carapace whose appearance does not allow her to even arbitrarily place them in any sort of binary gender alignment in her mind. They skitter at her in greeting, a sound not translated, and reminds Carol somewhat of a bug.

 

Some of the others around her, onlookers, seem to be the same species, but there’s a lot of diversity here, implying immigration. Carol bets this might not be a bad place to ask about Skrulls either. 

 

"Thank you for coming," the chirping leader greets, "my people had hoped you would help us. I'd like to say we had other plans as a contingency, but there's not much we can do against those ships. We have very little defense."

 

Carol nods, "Are you comfortable with me engaging?"

 

"If you don't," they say, " _ they  _ will. We won't have anywhere to go if they take our planet from us."

 

A tall, greenish, furry man beside the leader steps forward. 

 

"We have no formal military, but there are a small number of ships that we could use to fight, from some of our refugees who fled military draft," he says, "I will die by your side with honor if you would be so kind to lend us your aid. Otherwise, we will do it alone."

 

“Let’s get this over with, then.”

 

\--

 

Carol flies above the planet, a ragtag fleet of backup ships working to corral CASUG fighters away from the planet's perimeter. Without orders to officially engage yet, the soldiers retreat a small distance. 

 

She attempts to glow brightly enough to really catch their attention without wasting too much energy on the gesture. It seems to work. With a crackle, a deep voice connects with her open comm.

 

"Ah," a man growls, "I see we are joined by the rogue Kree soldier Vers. You have been quite an annoyance lately, and I have read up on your bounty sheet. The Kree would pay well for your head."

 

Carol doesn't need oxygen to live, but she does need it to speak, airtight force field activated under her cowl. 

 

"My name is Captain Marvel..." she answers, ignoring his threat, staring into the face of a fleet, unmoving, "Today I stand as one with the people of this planet, who claim their lands as their home, and their resources within it as their own..." Carol kicks up the light show a notch, "They are a peaceful people, but I am a woman of war. If you move against them, you move against me. I am willing to die here today, for this cause. I have made my choice... Now you make yours."

 

\--

 

“Colonel Fury,” a familiar voice answers, professionally.

 

“Hello Colonel,” Maria greets, “it’s Captain Maria Rambeau, Captain Danvers'-”   
  
“Hey Maria!”

 

“-friend.”

 

“Hi Maria,” Fury greets again, a humorous edge to his voice that she knows she is intended to interpret as a little mocking; whether it is for introducing herself like he wouldn’t remember her, or for calling herself Carol’s ‘friend’, she doesn’t really know.

 

“How’ve you been?” Maria asks, “Any more... you know...?”

 

“Space aliens?”

 

“Your words. I don’t know anything about those.”

 

“Uh huh,” Fury hums, “no, no more. Not unless you’ve seen any lately.”

 

“Nope,” Maria says.

 

“Huh.”

 

Some small part of Maria wants to tell him the truth, that Carol’s been gone a couple months, but she’s back in their life. That she’s a good person, a good partner. 

 

Instead, she says, “So... about that job?”

 

\--

 

Silence, for a minute, then a laugh. 

 

"Scared, general?" A younger man's voice aks, mockingly.

 

"No," the original voice growls, "die if you like, Captain. It would be exceedingly convenient."

 

A crackle, as the comm disconnects. Carol does not wait for further prompting, and flies a wide, bright curve before gunning it straight towards the warship. 

 

She takes out smaller ships that cross in front of her, avoiding them where she can in pursuit of their leader. She;s hesitant with allies behind her to ignore them completely; as much as she likes to spare the individual, low-level soldiers, she’ll feel worse if they gun down her back-up.

 

One spits a concentrated blast at her that catches her in the chest and takes the air from her lungs. It hurts like hell, burning like static upon her skin, as energy-absorption always does, but she takes the boost, throwing half power back and taking out one of their wings, severely limiting their movement. 

 

A moment later and her mercy is for naught, as a fellow ex-Kree soldier from the planet below takes out the rest of the ship, nimbly dodging back out of the way, and leading a couple of fighters on a chase.

 

She takes a wide arc around the ship, moving their fire away from her allies, nobly attempting to stop any ships from entering the atmosphere and firing upon the surface below. 

 

Wide beams of energy follow her path. She skirts the edge of their deadly arc, skimming energy off the top and using it to fend off ships while she looks for a vulnerable part of their hull. 

 

She finds it. They had their warning. 

 

She carves through layers of the warship in seconds, pulling from the power of the hot, burning explosions around her to push all the way through, emerging out the other side. 

 

The ships retreat fairly quickly after that, and Carol orders her allies to stand down. The ex-Kree soldier among her defacto ranks ignores her, hot on the tail of a departing fighter. Carol intercepts him, slamming her hands down on his windshield and repeating the order, allowing the ship to escape into the jump zone. 

 

He scowls, but does as he is told, and follows her back to the surface, along with their few other remaining ships. Carol figures they lost about a third, 6 of the 17 that followed her up here, but their sacrifices mostly kept ships from the city below. Carol can act with devastating power on big targets, but she can only do so much against large numbers alone.

 

Talos assured her he would join her with reinforcements as fast as he was able, so Carol resolves to put him on clean-up, letting his soldiers work with the local government to find any ships that may have breached on the other side. 

 

She agrees to stick around for a few more days, in case the CASUG armies return. They are quickly joined by the president of Syhnnn, who bows low to her and thanks her for what she has done.

 

The unprovoked attack on this planet stirred the nearby countries, she tells her. CASUG is likely to stand down and sign the treaties they have been sitting on for years, if they do not wish to engage in a war they will surely lose. 

 

"Their only real chance," the President says, "is if the Kree decide to back them up."

 

"So you want me to stay." Carol sighs. 

 

"For just a little while longer," the President smiles, "meet me at my offices tomorrow. As a token of gratitude, we have secured some probable Skrull locations, not only on my planet, but throughout the galaxy. Highly confidential of course."

 

\--

 

“We’d love to have you Captain Rambeau,” Fury says, “thought I was never going to hear from you again.”

 

“I was mulling it over,” Maria says, “to be honest, I don’t really want to move.”

 

Fury laughs.

 

“You think we’re just going to offer you a convenient, part-time job with a secret government agency?” he asks, “You just going to fly a plane every once in awhile and cash a check?”

 

“Well... no, I guess not. What would you need me to do?”

 

“Just that.” Fury says, and Maria can hear the smile in his voice, “Bet I can hook you up with a signing bonus too.” 

 

“...Wh-” Maria stutters, “Really?”

 

“Really, really. Already had you approved, I was just waiting for you to call. Would love to have a nifty flier like you on standby.”

 

“...Is this just ‘cause of Carol?”

 

“Who’s Carol?” Fury asks, “No mention of anyone by that name in your file. You want me to add anything?”

 

“No. That’s okay.”

 

“Just want to help a friend out,” Fury says, “support a nice  _ single mom, _ right?”

 

“That’s me.” Maria says, rolling her eyes.

 

She supposes they’re gonna have to have this charming jackass over for dinner again, then. Friends like this are few and far-between.

 

There’s a part of her that wonders if Fury just likes holding all the cards himself, but even if it’s true, Maria doubts keeping him a bit closer will tell him any more than he could find out anyway, if he wanted to snoop on her. 

 

“I’ll set you up for an interview then, Captain,” Fury offers, “How’s your next week looking?”

 

Carol will be gone for a bit longer. Her mother can watch Monica for a couple days.

 

“Looks great, Colonel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> The "woman of war" paragraph is a slightly edited speech Carol makes in a similar situation in the comics. There were a few comic references in this chapter, actually. 
> 
> CM2 announced! So far away.... I sure hope Maria and Monica both return, but I'm at least a little hopeful, for potential spoilery speculation I've extrapolated from the few details we've gotten. Anyone ever wants to talk CM, hit me up @d1nocharge on tumblr. 
> 
> If you have time to leave a review, they've been what's really keeping me going on this. I'd like to keep writing, because I'm having a lot of fun, but it's nice to know others are too! :)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody!   
> Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I have been so so busy and so so exhausted... but I've also written some of the next chapter. I just wanted to split it up before it got super super long. Hopefully the next update will not be too far from now.
> 
> Chapter summary: Carol comes home and thinks about mothers.  
> Chapter warnings: Implied/referenced child abuse - fairly light and vague references to Carol's dad

When Carol comes home for the first time in three months, Maria is not in town.

 

It's late one Sunday morning when she arrives, and she stops by their empty house to clean up and change before grabbing Maria's car keys- the first set she can find- to pick up Monica. 

 

She goes to her parents-in-law’s house, coming in first for coffee and food, and tells them details she just made up about her business trip. She’s curt by nature, so it’s not particularly suspicious if she doesn’t share much. She’s also pretty sure they think she works for the FBI, which is why they accept so easily her insistence that she couldn’t come home sooner.

 

“I’ll be back for a while I think,” Carol says, “this job is very on and off.”

 

“Mm,” Maria’s mother, Lynne, hums, “do you think that’s what kind of job Maria has now? On and off?”

 

“I don’t know, it’s different than mine...” Carol tells her, “She says she won’t be gone too often, but I guess since they just hired her...”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“...”

 

“It’s safe though, right?”

 

Carol’s eyes soften, and she nods, “It’s safe.”

 

“Yours as well?”

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

“Don’t lie to me, Carol.”

 

“...I think I’ll be alright,” Carol says, “but I’ve always been a bit of a dumbass.”

 

Lynne chortles, setting her coffee down, and leans in, taking Carol’s hand firmly. Her long nails press into Carol’s wrist, but Carol does not pull away.

 

“You have,” she confirms, “I’m glad you’re back, baby. I don’t tell you enough.”

 

“Me too, Mrs Rambeau.”

 

“Don’t go away again.”

 

Carol nods, sincerely.

 

Lynne squeezes her hand once more before pulling away, cupping her warm coffee once more, and sets her elbows on the table. 

 

It’s a common trope to hate your mother-in-law, but Carol loves Lynne Rambeau more than her own mom. She also loves Henry Rambeau more than she loves her own father, but honestly, she loves her neighbor Tom more than Joe Danvers, and she doesn’t really get along with Tom. 

 

She’ll never be able to repay the kindness Lynne has shown her over her life, especially in high school, when she was just Maria’s strange little friend. Lynne was busy enough, with two kids, and sometimes two jobs, but she took the time and effort to create a space where Carol was able to be comfortable.

 

She let her come over often, fed her dinner, called her ‘baby’ sweetly, and touched her little enough to respect her boundaries, but often enough to get her used to the gentle contact. She didn’t ask about Carol’s home life directly until she had built enough trust with her to do so, but it was clear to Carol early on that she was the first adult in her life who she could discuss it with if she needed to. She made her a cake when she got accepted into MIT, and rubbed her back when she cried over the realization that she would never be able to pay for tuition to actually go.

 

She let Carol be a part of their family long before she and Maria ever got together, and more miraculously, did not waver in that commitment after they were.

 

Carol smiles warmly at her, sliding down a little in her chair, legs spread comfortably, and listens attentively to a story about her book club.

 

\--

 

Monica gives her time alone with Lynne for a little while, hanging with Henry, but eventually comes over to flop onto her lap and very strongly hint that it's time to leave. 

 

"Let's go hooome Auntie Carol," she says, not-quite whispering directly into Carol's ear as her grandmother stands to put their dishes away. 

 

Carol pinches at her sides before pulling Monica up onto her lap, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. 

 

"Okay Lynne," she says, "I think we should get back."

 

"Yes, of course. It was nice to have you stay with us for a few days," Lynne says, coming close to pinch both of Monica's cheeks, then does the same to Carol, "and so nice seeing you dear. I hope you're home for a while."

 

Monica holds Carol's hand sweetly all the way to the car, excitedly dumping all of the information she's been saving up to tell her since their last call. 

 

Carol is very very tired, but she "mms" and "uhuhs" when she can, trying to pay attention, but mostly trying not to let her fatigue influence her driving. 

 

Monica stops talking before they are all the way home, and Carol is unable to recall whether she finished on a natural ending place, or if she was supposed to respond to something. 

 

"Cool," she says, almost a minute after Monica went silent, "what else, uh..."

 

"You weren't listening."

 

"Sure I was," Carol says, rubbing one eye with the back of her wrist, "I was just focusing near the end... can you repeat the last part?"

 

"What was the last thing I said?"

 

"Uhmm...."

 

Monica harrumphs, crossing her arms and bringing her feet up onto the seat. 

 

"Shoes, baby," Carol says, glancing over to her through the rear-view, "you know your ma doesn't like your shoes on the-"

 

Monica kicks the back of the passenger seat. 

 

"Monica," Carol snaps, then takes a deep breath, "I'm sorry, I'm just tired. I just got back. I'll nap, and we can talk at dinner."

 

"..."

 

"I'll listen. I promise."

 

Carol pulls into their driveway, switching off the car and pulling the key before turning to her daughter, still moping in the backseat. 

 

"Okay?"

 

"Okay..."

 

They head inside, and Carol gets a quick hug before Monica goes up to her room. 

 

Carol showered before heading over to see her parents-in-law, and so merely takes off her shoes, jeans, and bra before laying on Maria's side of the bed and letting the familiar smell lull her quickly into a heavy, exhausted sleep. 

 

She wakes some hours later, at 8pm, and curses the time. 

 

She needs to make Monica dinner... and it’s a school night. 

 

Carol rolls to her feet, popping her head into Monica's room before heading into the kitchen. 

 

The girl is seated at their little table reading a book, with an empty Poptart wrapper and a glass of juice in front of her. She's not supposed to snack before dinner, but Carol can't really blame her.  

 

"Sorry," she mumbles, staring blankly into the fridge for something to cook. 

 

They've got no milk, because Monica has been staying at her grandparents'. That was probably something Carol was meant to pick up. 

 

She sighs, knocking her head against the side of the fridge once, exhausted, and frustrated, missing her wife, and hoping she’s not a bad mom and partner. Then, she preheats the oven, pulling a bag of chicken nuggets from the freezer and a can of green beans out of the pantry.

 

“Can we have mashed potatoes?”

 

“No milk.”

 

“Oh.” Monica says, and continues to read.

 

Carol decides not to interrupt Monica by asking what her book is about yet. Instead, she stares at the oven until it has heated up enough, then quickly prepares the nuggets and throws them inside.

 

She feels a little sullen and moody, the way that she hates that she gets sometimes. Since her talk with Maria some months ago about her tendencies to, she’s been resisting the urge to hide away from all contact when the mood strikes, instead doing trying to lean in to her family’s love and support.

 

It’s been working alright while she’s home, although she’s sure Talos worries when she avoids him for days now and then. And now, waking up in the dark with a child to feed, one who may still be annoyed from earlier, and Maria not here to greet her after months of absence... Carol wants to wander far into the night until she can think clearly again.

 

“Wait, how am I going to have cereal tomorrow?” Monica asks abruptly.

 

“Dry?” Carol shrugs.

 

“I can’t have it dry...”

 

“I can’t leave you here while I get milk.” Carol says, “It takes at least an hour to go to the store, get groceries, and come back, and you can’t come with ‘cause you gotta go to bed.”

 

“You could fly there...” Monica suggests.

 

“You know I can’t,” Carol sighs, “I’m so visible. I wish though.”

 

“Aw man...”

 

“You can have freezer waffles.”

 

“With no milk...”

 

Carol shakes her head, giving up, and stares again at the oven.

 

She wants to ask Monica about what she was going to say in the car, but honestly, she’s still so fucking tired, and her brain is in not-working mode, and she’s worried she’s going to zone out again, or not respond in the way Mon wants.

 

When dinner is ready, Carol invites Monica towards the living room, offering to have the TV on while they eat.

 

“Or you can tell me your story from the car?” She offers at last.

 

“Hm,” Monica muses, clearly enticed by the offer to not eat at the dinner table, “I’ll tell you during the commercials.”

 

The food is extremely subpar, as anyone might expect freezer chicken nuggets with salt-and-cayenne green beans to be, but Carol wolfs her meal down quickly as they watch TV.

 

Monica leans on her, which is a good sign, and at the first commercial, immediately mutes and turns to Carol.

 

“Pa Pa and I went to TWO basketball games,” she starts, “I told you on the phone about the college game, but then last weekend we went to a basketball game at the highschool, too! I think he wants me to play. Mom never played even though she’s tall because she wanted to run track with you.”

 

“Is that why?” Carol says, “I know my memory is spotty, but I’m pretty sure she wasn’t that good at it.”

 

“Ohh,” Monica giggles, “I’m gonna tell her you said that.”

  
“Don’t get me in trouble,” Carol says, making a conscious effort to smile despite her low-energy mood, “but I definitely recall kicking her ass at HORSE.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yeah,” Carol brags, “I used to play a lot with my brother, JJ...”

 

She wonders abruptly what JJ is up to. They haven’t spoken in years, not since she left home in high school.

 

Carol realizes she’s stopped listening.

 

“-and I threw it from the 3-pointer before Andrea- oh commercial’s over!”

 

By the time Monica mutes the TV again, she hasn’t absorbed much of the episode’s plot, but she hasn’t thought about her brother again, either. She’s not sure, really, where her mind went these past several minutes, but it sure wasn’t with her.

 

“What was I saying...” Monica ponders, “...oh, yeah, Bumpout. Did you ever play that?”

 

“The hell is Bumpout...?”

 

“You line up behind each other and if the person behind you makes a basket before you do, you’re out.”

 

“Oh,” Carol says, fighting very hard to remember, “I- yeah. I played. In Boston we call it, uh... oh! Knockout.”

 

She slaps her leg excitedly at successfully recalling the name, and Monica laughs.

 

“You got that from Grandma,” she says, slapping her own knee mockingly.

 

“Hey,” Carol laughs, smiling genuinely this time.

 

“Can we play Bumpout and HORSE when Mom gets back?”

 

“I’d love that,” Carol says warmly, “I’m gonna kick both of your asses.”

 

Monica laughs, “I’m really gonna tell Mom you said that.”

 

“Don’t expect mercy just because I love you.”

 

“Why didn’t you play basketball?” Monica asks.

 

“Uhm...” Carol frowns, "My pops always wanted me to act more feminine, so he wasn't very happy with the idea. Took me bowling a lot though.”

 

“Bowling?” Monica says, screwing her face up; Carol happens to know she hates the game.

 

“I didn’t really like bowling, but I liked going with him and my brothers.” Carol shrugs, “My ma was the one who got me into running, though. Anytime I seemed stressed she’d put me outside in tennis shoes.”

 

Monica listens, attentively, unused to Carol talking at all about her family life.

 

“She started to wake me up early every day and get me to run before breakfast. Thought it’d help me start the day right...” Carol says, “That was one good thing she did for me. I met your mom through cross-country... though she was doing sprints.”

 

“Did your mom and you fight, too?” Monica asks, hesitantly.

 

“Too?”

 

“Like you and your dad.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Monica glances at the TV as it switches back to main programming, but does not move to unmute.

 

“No.”

 

“No?”

 

“We didn’t really fight,” Carol says, slowly.

 

She liked her mom, Carol realizes, not really sure what to do with the complicated feeling. She doesn’t say anything else, just picks up the remote and turns up the volume.

 

Monica doesn’t ask her any more questions.

 

\--- 

 

Carol sits on the couch long after Monica gives her a kiss goodnight.

 

\---

 

At midnight, Carol goes to sleep.

 

At 4AM, she goes for a run.

 

If it was irresponsible to leave Monica alone to get milk, Carol figures it’s probably not too much better to leave her alone in the house at 4 in the morning, so she decides to stick to running up and down the long road their house sits on, where she can keep an eye out.

 

Carol starts slow, working her way up to a solid jog, which she maintains for a couple minutes before adding speed. It’s familiar- the cool morning air blows her hair out behind her, and she can feel the bumps in the road through her sneakers as each strike of her foot reverberates up her legs.

 

When she was a teenager, she won medals for cross-country.

 

Maria won some too, for sprinting. It was much more difficult, in Carol’s opinion- you needed to perfect each aspect of your technique to maximize efficiency, as every millisecond counted. 

 

Long distance running was simple- when it hurts, don’t stop. Then you win.

 

Carol’s feet thud across the pavement as she barrels down the road. She does not draw upon the strength of the sun living in her body, tries to reduce this to just Carol. Not Captain Marvel, just Carol.

 

Realistically, she knows it’s more like Vers. Even at her most fit, Carol Danvers could not throw a man across the room.

 

She slows back down to a jog, then to a stop, not remotely out of breath despite running a mile in 4 minutes. She turns around, running home, then past home, and does another mile in the opposite direction before turning around.

 

After a half hour of this, Carol feels genuinely winded, managing mostly to not cheat and replenish her energy from the unnatural store of it in her body. She goes upstairs to check on Monica, and then drinks water where it falls straight from the faucet, even though Maria doesn’t like it when she sticks her head in the sink.

 

She goes back to bed, and wonders if her mother still runs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I consider this and the next chapter to be a 2-parter. I really wanted it all-together, but I think it helps readability and flow a bit to split things up. Hopefully to combat the split I'll update soon enough. 
> 
> If you have time to leave a comment I soooo appreciate it. You all rock.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Updating again because as I mentioned in the previous chapter notes, I mostly had it written but broke it up for length. I've started on the next chapter already though!  
> Thanks so much for all your nice words at the end of last chapter! I cherish each one.  
> My increase in writing is not inspired by any sort of quarantine bc my work is still making us go in... lmao.
> 
> Chapter summary: With one more day until Maria returns, Carol tries to shake surfacing memories of her childhood.  
> Chapter warnings: References to child abuse and negligence, as well as implied/referenced self-destructive habits

“Freezer waffles and orange juice for my sweet little girl,” Carol says, placing two sets of each down on their little table before sliding into the seat opposite.

“Thank you,” Monica greets, taking her juice with two hands to carefully sip from where Carol filled it up too high.

She set Monica’s waffles up the way she knows she likes them- with two waffles in a dry stack, and a bit of butter and syrup on the side of her plate for her to dip them into with her hands. For Carol’s own, she’s spread butter on each and drowned the top waffle in syrup, flipping it over so it leaks onto the one underneath.

Carol’s mouth waters at the first bite of the sugary syrup. Her next bite is weirdly cold, and she curses the way their toaster unevenly cooks things. 

“How are your waffles?”

“They’re good.” Monica says, “Can you get milk today?”

Carol nods, perking up excitedly as she feels the table buzz under her fingers. She pulls her chair around so it knocks against Monica’s, making the girl laugh as she swings into it beside her, and answers the comm.

“Good morning!!” Maria greets, smiling widely at the sight of her family.

“Morning, Mom!”

“Hi, Maria!”

“We’re having waffles,” Monica says, picking up the communicator and rotating it with the hopes it will capture their plates of waffles and project them on Maria’s end of the hologram.

“Sounds like a good morning,” Maria says warmly, “you have fun with Carol last night?”

Monica shrugs.

“We’re going to play basketball when we get back.”

“Ah,” Maria says, “I left you alone too long with your Pa Pa.”

“Also, Auntie Carol says she kicked your- heh- butt at HORSE.”

“Hey,” Carol objects, “what did I say about getting me in trouble?”

“Oh did she. Go on.”

“Well,” Carol defends, “all I said, very honestly... that I am better than you at basketball and I kicked your ass at HORSE. More than once.”

Maria gives Carol a look, one she has received so many, many times from her wife. It’s a funny little raise of her eyebrows, and a squinting of her eyes, and a little smirk at the corner of her mouth. Ostensibly, it is meant to represent exasperation, but Carol knows it’s amusement. She wants to kiss her.

“But I love you anyway.” Carol finishes, smirking back.

“Uh huh,” Maria says, shaking her head.

“She didn’t even defend herself,” Carol whispers to Monica, knowing Maria can hear. Monica laughs.

“Be quiet,” Maria says, indignantly, smiling with her teeth.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Finish your waffles baby, you gotta go to school.”

“Okay...” Carol says, taking a bite.

Monica laughs, tearing off another piece of her unevenly-toasted waffle.

Maria tells them all about her new job, how she’s being tested on her ability to fly several aircraft for reserve status. She’s passing all with flying colors, of course. 

After Monica leaves to gather her things, Maria tells Carol that Pegasus was not only a project between NASA and the USAF, as they knew, but also SHIELD. She’s seen Fury only once since she arrived, and mostly has spent time with their flight division, although he has promised to see her at least once before she heads back.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you got home,” Maria says, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Carol says, and makes a great show of looking around the room to ensure Monica’s not in listening distance before widening her eyes and repeating, “I’ve missed you.”

“Uh huh.”

“I wanna kiss you all over,” Carol says quietly, leaning in close.

“Shh,” Maria laughs, “yes, yes I want that too. All of it. God.”

“See you soon...” Carol says, smiling suggestively.

“Ugh, stop. Only two more days of this.”

“Two more days.” Carol says, “Well, tomorrow night, really. Just one.”

“Love you sweetheart,” she says, “I have to go.”

“Love you.”

Maria blows her a kiss, and the image flickers, retreating.

Carol leans back into her chair, taking a deep breath.

\--

Carol drops Monica off at school and stops at the store on her way back, loading up on groceries. It’s shaping out to be a stormy day, and Carol hears the rumble of thunder over the low whine of the freezers as she drops frozen vegetables into her cart. She takes her time getting the essentials and plotting out what she could make for meals over the next week, trying to kill time before she has to go out into the rain, in case it stops. 

It doesn’t.

Carol leaves her groceries under the cover at the front of the store, ignoring the baffled look she can see from an old woman she recognizes from church, who is waiting for her husband to pull the car around. 

She drives her own car up to the front as the woman and her husband drive away, and quickly loads the groceries into the backseat so she doesn’t have to open the trunk. 

Carol climbs back behind the steering wheel, quite damp, and carefully navigates their shitty, underfunded roads.

Through the rain, hazards blink from an old and worn car, pulled to the side of the road. As Carol pulls up behind them, she can see clear signs of a blown tire, pieces littered on the road. When no-one exits the car, she gets out, accepting her wet fate, and tap-taps on the window.

Carol pushes her drenched hair away from her face as a young woman cautiously rolls down the window. She cracks it for a second, but evidently decides that it’s rude to avoid getting wet at all while Carol stands in a puddle.

“Hi...”

“Hi,” Carol greets, “you okay?”

The girl’s lip wobbles, as water begins to pour into her car.

“Do you have anyone to help you with your tire?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you have a spare?”

She nods.

“Oh you-” The girl says, “You live with Maria Rambeau?”

“Uh, yeah.” Carol nods.

“Do you think she can bring her tow truck?” She asks, then, “...How much would that cost?”

Carol shrugs.

“How about I just change your tire, kid. On me. That okay?”

“Oh, I- It’s raining.”

“I’m already wet.” Carol says, squinting through the steady stream of water pouring into her eyes, “Pop the trunk and roll up your window. I’ll let you know when you’re good.”

“Thank you...” 

She does as she is told, and Carol retrieves the fresh tire and wrench, glad the girl is somewhat prepared. She’s got perishables.

She quickly takes each of the lug nuts off with her wrench, in a star pattern, and drops them into the pockets of her drenched hoodie. She glances behind her to make sure no-one is nearby... though visibility is too low to matter anyway. She lifts the car with one hand, using the other to pull the flat tire off and drop it to the side. She quickly slots the other on, twisting each lug nut back into place in the same star pattern, and puts the car back down fully.

She’s strong enough to tighten them all with her fingers alone, but it’s pretty wet and slippery, so to be safe she uses the wrench to tighten each bolt, making sure not to put too much pressure on and snap them. 

Carol nods, impressed with the speed at which she was able to do that, and knocks on the trunk, waiting a moment for the girl to open it again. She puts the flat tire and the wrench back and crosses around to the window.

The girl rolls it back down, looking bewildered.

“All done.”

“Done?”

“Yep.”

“Wow,” the girl says, “I thought it would take longer.”

“I live with a mechanic,” Carol shrugs, “she makes me help her with things.”

“Thank you so much,” the girl says, “thank you. Are you sure I don’t owe you anything?”

“Nah,” Carol says, “save your money for a new tire.”

She waves her off with both hands, turning around to get back into her car.

She’s not too happy about getting her seat wet, but she’s sure there isn’t much she can do about that. She just spent the last 3 months helping people, but she’s glad to see it still feels good.

She hangs her wet clothes when she gets home, putting the groceries away in her underwear. When she walks into the bathroom to get ready to shower she poses a little, tensing her stomach muscles to try to make the shapes of her abs appear more clearly, and pretends to flex casually to show off, picturing doing so for Maria. 

Her partner’s muscles are much more impressive, gorgeous abs that she’d had since she was running in high school, something which had knocked Carol off her feet then and left increasingly little doubt in her panicked mind that she was a lesbian. Her biceps, too, are larger than Carol’s own, and pre-superpowers, she was always stronger. But Carol’s not complaining. No ma’am. She loves and respects that woman’s body. God bless. 

She leans against the counter, picturing the width of her thighs, the shapes of her hips, the feeling of them in her hands and the way Maria reacts when she grabs her there. Carol shakes her head, hard. No no no. One more night. No use torturing herself now.

She strips down to nothing, hopping in the shower before it has time to warm up, and tries to think of something else. She spends the first few minutes of her shower making a plan to clean the house and ready it for Maria’s homecoming. She savors the feeling of the hot water on her skin, and tilts her head back until rivulets of the steaming water are running over her face, infinitely more pleasant than the feeling of the cool rain.

She savors the feeling a little longer before eventually washing herself, shutting off the water and fogging the bathroom up even more as she steams the water off her skin.

Carol dresses herself in a pair of pajama pants and one of Maria’s shirts, and lets her mind drift once again lovingly to her as she tidies the house, the radio turned up loud. First the kitchen, where she will make Maria one of her favorite meals, then the living room, where they will settle in and watch a Blockbuster movie together, then their room where she will finally get to sleep next to her again.

Comfortable with the state of each, Carol checks Monica’s room. 

Her bed is unmade, the basket of laundry Maria probably made for her before she left is sitting untouched on the dresser, the floor is littered with books and school papers, and she’s got art supplies piled messily on her nightstand.

Clearly, someone is taking full advantage of her parents’ temporary absence. 

Carol sighs, resolving to bug her about it when she gets home, and goes downstairs to make herself a late lunch.

\---

Carol’s feeling pretty good by the time she heads to pick Monica up from school- she did a good deed, stocked the house with groceries, tidied pretty well, and when Maria gets home, she’s got a fun surprise for the both of them. 

She acquired a variety of blueprints and learning materials from space, ranging from clean energy systems, to holograms, to engines. Monica’s clear enthusiasm for science and killer grades- her baby is a little supergenius, Carol thinks- and Maria’s lifelong ambition to be an engineer have Carol thrilled to see what they can do with some advanced learnings. 

If she gets Maria’s blessing, she’s considered passing off some of the harmless ones, such as holograms, over to Fury for a little extra cash, but her main excitement lies in providing her nerdy, intelligent girls with something fun.

Monica asks to sit shotgun, smiling cheekily through the window. Carol gestures to the back seat with her thumb, sliding her sunglasses back over her eyes.

“Darrell’s dad lets him sit in the front seat,” she sighs, climbing in and buckling her seatbelt.

“Is Darrell eleven?” Carol asks.

“Yeah! He’s in my class.” 

“Well Darrell’s dad is stupid.”

Monica pouts.

“How old were you when you got to ride in the front?”

Carol purses her lips, thinking. She thinks she could ride in the front at Monica’s age, but she also rode in the bed of her dad’s pickup with no seatbelt, and often rode passenger after he’d had a few. She drove him home once when she was 14.

“We’re not gonna use my upbringing as an example for anything,” Carol says, “in fact, we’re gonna do exactly the opposite. No front seat until you’re 20.”

“Hey...”

“Tell me about school, babygirl.”

“It was good,” Monica says cheerily, evidently not too broken up about not being able to bend the rules while Maria’s away, “they had hamburgers in the cafeteria today. Oh, I need more emergency lunch money because you forgot to pack me a lunch this morning.”

“Shit.”

“It’s okay, I liked my hamburger.”

“Why didn’t you remind me?”

“I don’t know, I forgot. Mom usually just does it.”

Carol does it too... or she makes breakfast. Having to do both at once kind of threw her off.

Maria really is a superstar, doing this alone for so long, with a job. It usually makes her sad, thinking how long she left her a single mom, and how she still leaves from time to time, but right now she’s just impressed.

Carol turns up the radio at Monica’s request, glancing into the rearview from time to time to fondly watch her daughter sing and bob along to the music.

Monica dutifully starts on her homework as soon as they get home. She’s a whole grade ahead in math versus her peers, and is already learning geometry. Carol sits with her for a bit, in case she needs any help, but she seems to have a pretty good handle. She can’t wait until Monica gets to physics... that was Carol’s favorite. 

She was lucky that Maria found it endearing and not insufferable when she used to tell her that the secret to mastering sports- including running, basketball, bowling, you name it- was to be really good at physics. Carol remembers suddenly, with deep clarity and embarrassment, that one day she very carefully watched Maria run during their whole track session, trying to figure out how the coach’s tips on the way she should angle her body or move her arms would help her gain speed. God, what a dyke.

“Mon, when you’re done with your homework, can you clean your room?”

“Awh,” Monica whines.

“It’s a mess.”

“It’s not that bad. You should see my friends’ rooms. Their parents aren’t as strict.”

Carol shakes her head. They’re really not that strict.

“Can we order pizza tonight?”

“Without your mom?”

“She never lets us.”

“No.”

“Aw... can we eat in the living room?”

Carol’s feeling a lot better than she was yesterday. No need to hide her mood with TV-time. 

“We can eat at the table like we normally do.” Carol says, standing, “Clean your room.”

Carol calls Talos, to ensure everything is going well. They catch up about the status of the Skrulls, and all the planets she helped or governments she opposed over her 3-month business trip. It’s all running well enough for her to feel comfortable, and Carol hopes to God it stays that way for a while. The allies they made have been helpful in securing the location of more Skrulls in her absence, and offering protection, as well.

After a lengthy chat, she makes dinner- chicken with peas and mashed potatoes. She calls Monica to come eat as she sets the table and pours the girl a milk, pulling a beer out of the fridge for herself. She calls Monica for dinner, again. She sits down.

“Monica!” 

“I’m coming!” 

“Now.”

Monica storms down the stairs loudly, throwing herself into the seat opposite Carol. 

“You wanted me to clean my room.”

“Yes,” Carol agrees, “and then I wanted you to come to dinner.”

Monica frowns, kicking her heels against the chair.

“Do you wanna do grace?”

“No.”

“Suits me,” Carol shrugs, cutting into her chicken.

They sit in tense silence for a bit as Monica continues to sulk. That suits her too. Carol’s not that talkative anyway.

She gets a fair way through her food before trying to make eye contact with Monica again, who she knows must just be exploding with the urge to talk. 

“I made mashed potatoes,” Carol points out; Monica had requested them the night before.

Monica nods.

Fine.

Carol finishes her food.

“How’s the room coming?”

Wrong question.

“You’re being no fun!” Monica says, kicking her feet again.

Carol says nothing.

“You’ve been gone forever and now all you want to do is make me clean.”

Carol says nothing.

Monica looks up at her with wide, accusing eyes.

“I sat with you while you did your homework?”

“Yeah. That’s fun.”

“Okay.” Carol says, “What do you want to do?”

“Order pizza.”

“We already ate, Mon.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to.”

Carol shakes her head.

“We could have watched TV while we ate again,” Monica says, “‘cause Mom never lets us.”

“I like it when we eat together,” Carol says sincerely.

“We eat together on the couch.”

Carol sighs. Monica takes an angry bite of mashed potatoes and peas.

“I want you to clean your room so it’s nice when your mom gets back. I cleaned the whole house.”

Monica kicks her feet again.

“I was gonna without you telling me.”

“Okay.”

Monica stares at her food, half eaten.

“Can I go?”

“Sure.”

She lets Monica storm off back upstairs and tuppers the rest. She’s frustrated, but she does feel bad about leaving for months, so she figures the girl has to get that out somehow. 

She paces around the kitchen, knocking her fingers’ pointed knuckles against her thigh in frustration, as always trying not to fall into the old bad habits of her teens, like rapping her knuckles against countertops. Maria made her promise to stop long ago, and anyway, she’d probably break something now. 

When she was on Hala, she used to find Yon-Rogg and make him fight her, something which rarely actually relieved stress. It felt good, at first, but eventually getting hit over and over would just well more anger up inside of her, those feelings of helplessness and frustration she had known her whole childhood. She’d react too strongly then, and usually photon blast him across the room, landing her in the principal’s office with the Supreme Intelligence.

She takes a deep breath, pulling her hand away from her leg, and drums her fingers lightly against her stomach instead, thinking of all the actually helpful techniques she’s tried over the years to ease the restlessness that lives within her.

Her mom got her to run, Mrs Rambeau tutted in shared anger, Maria held her hand and listened and remained calm. She recognizes this frustration is just guilt, so running it out is probably not the most productive. Maria isn’t here to be reasonable, and she doesn’t want her to know she’s failing at being a single parent for a damn minute.

Maybe instead of tutting along with her, Mrs Rambeau will tut at her, and Carol can pull herself together.

She pulls the phone off its hook and slowly dials, willing herself to respect her family and be as painfully open as she can. 

“Hello.”

“Hi Henry,” Carol greets Maria’s father, “may I speak to Lynne, please?”

He wordlessly hands the phone to his wife, so Carol does not know he’s complied until she hears her mother-in-law’s greeting. Maybe Maria is so forgiving of Carol’s quiet nature because she’s very used to it.

“Hello Mrs Rambeau.”

“What’s going on?”

Carol frowns to herself for a moment and shrugs, somewhat not good at the parts of communicating that are very necessary for a phone call. 

“Tell me everything is okay, first, and then you may take your time.”

“All clear.”

“Okay, go on.”

Carol goes on.

“I just had a fight with Monica.”

“Mhm.”

“I think she missed me. But she’s being rude.”

“Mm... What did you do about it?”

Carol doesn’t remember. 

“Nothing?” 

She tries to analyze her tone, and her words, but she’s not really sure if she said anything before Monica stormed off. She didn’t yell, or argue much, but maybe silence wasn’t the best reaction to have either.

Her dad used to yell. 

At best.

Her mom would button up and glare, and storm off somewhere to do their dishes so hard they broke, or get in the car and not come back for a while.

Carol has tried very hard to never be like her father, but she supposes her mom’s influence may have slipped in there.

Lynne waits for Carol to answer, and Carol can picture her sitting in the little chair Henry set up next to the phone for her, patiently.

“She’s in her room now.”

“I’m gonna need more details, baby.”

“I told her to clean her room, and she flipped her shit.”

“Mm.”

“I guess she wanted me to be fun.”

“Were you acting grumpy first?”

Carol makes an I-dunno noise.

Lynne lets her think about it. Carol thinks about something else.

“What did you think of my mom?” Carol asks, fixated on how much the other woman has been coming to mind.

Lynne sighs.

“I- I don’t hate her... but maybe I forgot.” Carol continues, rubbing at her temple, “I clearly did once.”

“I don’t know, baby.” Lynne says, “I don’t know that you did.”

“Oh.”

She left, though. Left her mom, and her remaining older brother, and did not look back. 

“I think it hurt her when I left...” Carol thinks, eyes stinging, “Why would I do that if I liked her?”

“Carol...”

“Sorry,” she sniffles, “this is not why I called. I just- I just can’t remember.”

“I think it hurt you that she wouldn’t prioritize you and your brothers’ well-being and leave your father...” Lynne says gently, but hesitates on whatever she is going to say next, and does not continue. 

“......But it’s not really that simple for adults, huh?”

“No,” she says sadly, “it’s not.”

Carol sighs, heavily.

“She always thought he’d get better again.” Carol recalls.

She didn’t want to bring their family apart, she insisted, because she loved him. Carol remembered thinking that apart would have been fine. It was the staying that sucked.

She knows now that many people are kept together because they can’t financially afford to leave. Her mother was a housewife her whole life, how was she going to just take her kids and go? But Carol had reached out again when she made Captain, to offer her help, if she wanted to leave then. Her mother had refused, asked her to come visit her and her father sometime, and hung up.

“This isn’t why I called...” Carol repeats, embarrassed.

“Maybe it is, baby,” Mrs Rambeau says, “have you been remembering things? Maybe it’s stressing you out.”

“I’m not taking it out on Monica,” Carol says defensively, “she is just being rude.”

“Hey, hey,” Lynne says, “I’m not saying you are... but maybe you are.”

“I’m very kind to Monica.”

“I know, Carol, I know. I’m not worried about that.”

“Kind of sounds like you are.”

“Carol.”

Carol frowns, feeling the annoyance come back.

She got off-topic. Her stupid, scrambled mind got off-topic and now Lynne thinks she’s taking her anger about her shitty childhood out on her granddaughter. 

“I’m not.” She insists, throat tight.

“I know.” Lynne says gently, “Why don’t you give Monica a hug, it’ll make you feel better.”

Carol nods.

“Okay.”

“Have you never fought with Monica before?”

“Well,” Carol says, “she was five before, so not in a way that mattered.”

“You will again,” Lynne laughs, “many, many times.”

“Thanks Mrs Rambeau...”

“Oh, Maria drove me crazy when she was a teenager. You did too!” She laughs, loudly, on the other end, “You remember when you were trying to fight me about getting dressed up for your school photo? I was gonna kill ya.”

Carol smiles, shaking her head. Lynne had flicked her ear and sat her down and brushed her hair. She made her change from her tee-shirt into a nice collared button-down Maria wore to church. Maria had to wear a dress that day, and Lynne had partially braided her hair and pulled it back into a neat bun. 

Carol’s resistance was a middle finger to her dad, who was constantly insisting she was never going to get a husband by forgoing makeup and letting her hair be a mess. She had reactively argued with Mrs Rambeau at any suggestion she should ever try to look nice.

That was definitely not the only time they fought, but none of those ever stuck with her. They were loving fights.

Monica just missed her, Carol thinks. Maybe this is a loving fight, too. 

“I remember.” Carol says, “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby. Thanks for calling.”

“Thanks...” 

She hangs up, biting her lip, and breathes carefully for several minutes before checking her reflection for redness and heading upstairs.

She knocks, and waits.

“Go away.”

“Monica, baby, I missed you too.”

Monica does not answer.

Carol decides not to push, in case she got wanting to be left alone from her. Poor Maria.

“Make sure you brush your teeth before bed. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Love you.”

“Love you.” Monica grumbles. Carol smiles. Somehow Maria had ingrained in her that it must always be said back, so even at her most angry, Monica cannot resist.

She goes to bed feeling alright. One more day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments really make me feel like this fic is loved and make me very happy. Thanks to those especially who comment each chapter. I really appreciate all of you.
> 
> Hope everyone is doing well. Feel free to tell me how you are below in addition to or instead of comments about the fic. Make sure you are prioritizing your mental health in these trying times. 
> 
> Much of my goal with this fic is to put someone like Carol who has known pain and has the potential to continue down that path and instead put her in an environment where she is able to practice conscious steps to increase mental wellness and recognize her struggles but find healthier ways to work through them.  
> Today let's all join Carol in taking care of ourselves and others. If it is difficult, please picture what the tall... beautiful... kind... lovely Maria Rambeau (I may be a little smitten) would do or tell you to do.   
> Play a game, do a craft, drink lots of water, read danbeau fics... WRITE danbeau fics...... creating is so great for mental health! It doesn't even have to be ''good'', because it is good For you! ♥


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Another update... the 2-part chapter actually bled into a 3-part chapter, but this is the last piece of this arc. Next update will be something different. Just gotta follow through.
> 
> Chapter Summary: Maria comes home and Carol and Monica clearly have to work it out.  
> Chapter Warnings: Direct references to child abuse, allusions to Carol's (comic-canonical, but I'm using the same backstory) PTSD
> 
> Still goin' into work, but as my state increases lock-down policies, we will see if that changes... Hope everyone's well.

Maria turns the jet quickly, pressing the pedal at her foot to shift the rudder, testing how it alters maneuverability.

 

“Clear to bring her in? Over.”

 

“Clear, Photon.” Her flight commander replies, then, “Good luck.”

 

The light coming in through the windshield begins to dim. It’s subtle at first, and Maria’s first thought is only that a cloud has just passed over the sun, but very quickly the dark enveloping the space before her is too radical to be explained away by any natural phenomenon.

  
Fuckers.

 

“You could’a just had me fly this one at night.” Maria points out, “I’m not sure how or why you installed this on the plane itself, but as your test pilot, I wouldn’t clear it without a good reason.”

 

She checks her instruments to ensure she’s level and not about to collide with anything. Nothing’s changed in the second since she could see, but the moment she looks away, she finds herself checking again. Not much else to look at.

 

“You’re not our test pilot,” the commander replies, “the plane is cleared.  _ We’re  _ testing  _ you. _ ”

 

Oh, Maria remembers, right...

 

She checks her instruments again, to verify her height, and speed. Some part of her, the stupidest part, that she and Carol bring out in each other, wants to drop this jet into a roll.

 

Eh, fuck it. Carol’s been off fighting aliens in space. Maria needs good stories to bring home.

 

She did a full barrel roll on the last test, but with near zero-zero visibility- no horizon or anything else to use as a reference point- she’s not going to risk it now. Instead, she throws the jet into a 360 degree roll, righting it almost immediately as the aircraft seamlessly complies.

 

“Nice...”

 

She carefully checks her surroundings, ensuring the radar has cleared each area around her before accelerating significantly. Maria pulls the plane upwards as she reaches maximum speed, climbing quickly. She tenses, feeling it slow, nose pointed towards the stars. It’s disorienting, and honestly a bit frightening, to do this blind, but it’s not as if there’s much to be seen at this point in the maneuver anyway.

 

As the plane just, almost hangs in the air... Maria slams her foot into the rudder controls, cartwheeling the jet until she enters a nosedive, completing the stall turn as she brings the plane level once more, speeding past her landing zone.

 

“Alright, alright,” comes the commander’s laugh over the comm, “lookin’ pretty good. Bring her in so I can get my airspace back.”

 

“How long’s my runway?” Maria asks. It will determine how sharp a turn she can take, how much she’ll have to reduce her speed.

 

“I want you on runway B. I’ve got jets on C.”

 

Maria remembers this one. It’s a bit longer than some of the others she’s been instructed to land on, so she’ll have room to take her time.

 

“Alright,” she says, “prepared for landing.”

 

She brings the plane far enough out that she can turn around and point her aircraft in the general direction of the airport. It’s not actually a complete blackout, so as she approaches the runway, she should be able to use the lights as a reference enough to land, akin to a foggy night.

 

Maria uses the Low Visibility Procedures programs to line up, checking in on the comms all along the way. She’s still not able to see the ground, but she carefully reduces speed and watches her altitude. All at once, the runway appears, almost startlingly close, and Maria tilts the nose up a little higher, sure not to overreact and land on her tail. The jet skims smoothly over the ground, the current dry conditions allowing her to make a soft landing. 

 

As she pulls to a stop, the dark recedes from her windshield, and Maria pulls the aircraft around, taxiing back to where she’s instructed to park. 

 

No-one installs black-out mode on a jet just to fuck with their pilots, right? Although the benefit is clear for training, Maria wonders what other application this could possibly serve. 

 

“Pretty nift- I  _ mean _ \- what do you prefer, kickass?”

 

“Bitchin’?” Maria suggests, smiling widely as she pulls herself out of the cockpit, “Though ‘kickass’ is not bad.”

 

“Pretty bitchin’ flying there, Captain Rambeau.”

 

Fury approaches, hands in the pockets of a long brown coat, black eyepatch firmly affixed over his bad eye. He’s smiling widely, and she sees another pilot do a double-take a ways behind him.

 

“You passed.” He announces.

 

“Yeah.” Maria says, haughtily. She had little doubt.

 

“We’d love to have you on reserve status,” he continues, “and of course we will send you home with a paycheck for your time here.”

 

“That it?”

 

“Well,” he shrugs, leading her inside, “I was hoping we could get a late lunch before your flight home, catch up a little?”

 

\--

 

Maria peers at Fury over her vanilla milkshake and burger, sat across from him in a worn diner booth. 

 

“Permission to speak, Colonel?” Maria asks.

 

“At your own risk,” Fury says, “live my life by that philosophy. But I think we’re good here, yes.”

 

“Am I just a convoluted way to get to you-know-who?” Maria says, at her own risk.

 

Fury raises an eyebrow. The one she can see.

 

“ _ Are  _ you a way to get to her?” He asks, slinging an arm over the back of the booth, “ _ I’m _ the one with the pager.” 

 

Maria bites her lip.

 

She knows it’s a little obvious, but she doesn’t care.

 

They sit in silence for a moment. Fury takes a bite of his food.

 

“Distrustful,” Fury mumbles, over his burger, “I value that in a soldier.”

 

Maria sips her milkshake, not taking her eyes off of him. It’s very sweet, and not really as thick as it should be, but it’s good.

 

“You are here,” he continues, “because I think you’re a good pilot. Honestly.”

 

“Alright.”

 

“And if I seem to be giving you more flexibility than I might give to another really good pilot...” he says, “You know I got promoted after my work with the Kree, and regaining the Tesseract. If I can pay you back a little... the least I can do is give you an occasional extra source of income.”

 

That checks out well enough. It’s been pretty obvious that Fury’s starting to become a bit of a bigshot around SHIELD.

 

“She’s back, then?” 

 

“...Yeah,” Maria says, hesitantly, but sure he would be able to find out if he didn’t already know, “on and off. She’s been in space for months, again.”

 

“Is it dangerous?”

 

“...Yes. I think so.”

 

“Mm... Best of luck.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

Maria takes a bite.

 

“I don’t like putting all my eggs in one basket,” Fury says, peering past her, “even if that basket can fly, and glow, and has a good heart.”

 

Maria smiles.

 

Fury catches her look, and his mouth twitches, just subtly.

 

“How on Earth did you two hide anything from anyone ever?” 

 

Maria laughs, shaking her head.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colonel. I think we’re just talking about... your eggs?”

 

He huffs, but continues, “I’m building a team. I don’t know if I’ll ever find anyone as powerful as her, but if collectively, I can come close... well, I’ll sleep better at night.”

 

Maria nods, understanding.

 

“Got anyone so far?”

 

“...I’m following some leads.”

 

“So no.”

 

“Classified information, Captain.”

 

“Nothin’?” Maria tsks, “Man.”

 

Fury makes a show of looking around before leaning in close.

 

“There was a married pair of mad scientists who could do some pretty cool shit,” he says, “...but the wife disappeared, so maybe not.”

 

Maria smiles sympathetically, making a real show of it, and Fury leans back in his seat, waving her off.

 

“It was real cool shit,” he promises, “I just can’t tell you about it.”

 

“I’ve heard that line before.”

 

They eat, while their food is still warm, and eventually Maria opens up enough to talk about Carol. Nothing that anyone could use, nothing about aliens, just how Monica’s liked having her back, and that she’s starting to remember more and more. Fury gets nosey then, not in the spy way, but in the way that she thinks might just be their friend.

 

“How’d all...  _ this _ end up happening?” He asks, waving his fingers around a little, “You know, between you two.”

 

“I don’t answer that question at random diners,” Maria says, “you’ll have to come over to the house for dinner again sometime if you really want to know.”

 

“You drive a hard bargain, Captain Rambeau,” he says, and gives her what she thinks was supposed to be a wink.

 

\---

 

Maria walks quickly and excitedly up the jetbridge, throwing her weight back and forth into wide steps as she finds her charge into the airport blocked by a vacationing family walking slowly and taking up entirely too much room to squeeze past. She wants to ask them to let her by, but slows her roll a little and impatiently waits for them to meander their way through the final doors.

 

She doesn’t have any time to look for her family; the second she is out the door and moving around the gaggle of kids and tired parents, a short, fast shape has barrelled into her midsection, arms wrapping tightly around her waist.

 

Maria’s hands come to rest on Monica’s back as a big smile breaks out of her face. Carol is stood a short ways back, one hand clutching the snaps on her jacket, the other clenched by her side. Her hair is down, and she’s wearing a t-shirt that hugs nicely to her chest, even from what little of it Maria can see under her green jacket.

 

“Hi Monica!” Maria coos, dropping to one knee to grab her daughter in a tight hug. She stands, not letting go, and arcs backwards as she pulls Monica’s feet off the ground, soliciting a laugh as she shakes her side to side.

 

She puts her down, touching her shoulder one last time before advancing towards the love of her life, who she has missed ferociously for 3 long months.

 

Carol doesn’t move at first, probably overthinking a little how much affection she can give Maria in a public place like this. 

 

As Maria comes upon her, throwing her arms up for a hug, Carol releases the tight grip on her jacket. Maria sees a flash of red and green before Carol hugs her back, quick and tight, burying her face affectionately in her neck for a brief moment before pulling away. She presses something thin and cylindrical into Maria’s hand and steps back several paces. 

 

Maria glances to the red rose held loosely in her fingers and gives her partner a warm look, grabbing Monica’s shoulder and squeezing the girl against her as she walks. Monica plucks the rose from her hand to smell it.

 

“Have you eaten?” Carol asks.

 

Maria shakes her head.

 

“I had lunch with Nick kind of late though.”

 

“It’s Fury,” Carol corrects, “he’s gonna think you’re a Skrull.”

 

“He’ll know it’s me ‘cause I’m gonna keep calling him Nick.” Maria says, rolling her eyes, “He’s doin’ well. Got an eyepatch now, poor man.”

 

“Does it look cool??” Monica questions, hopping out in front of them both backwards as Carol falls back to walk beside Maria. 

 

“I guess.” Maria admits, focused behind Monica to make sure she doesn’t slam into anyone, walking backwards. She grabs her by the collar, pulling her around another kid haphazardly making their way down the hall.

 

“I wanna see...”

 

“Well, I invited him for dinner if he’s ever in town...” She says, then, more quietly to Carol, “Hope that’s okay.”

 

Carol shrugs, nodding.

 

It’s wet outside, from the frequent bouts of spring rain they’ve been having. The pavement shines beautiful colors in the cool, dark night air as they drive away from the airport and out of the city-adjacent streets. First yellows, from the lamps, then the bright gorgeous green of a traffic light, spread in an uneven pattern across the slick road, beside the blinking of a crosswalk. Maria watches dreamily out the window, hand laid over Carol’s on the gearshift, spinning a bright red Rose in her opposite fingers.

 

As they pull onto the highway, the visuals are reduced to blurred reds on one side and yellows on the other from the constantly-speckled windshield. It grows less interesting still as they drive closer and closer to home. Soon, there is no light before them but their own headlights, and when Maria looks to the rearview mirror, it is pitch black.

 

Maria takes her moment, in the safety of their car, with no-one around to see them at all, and slides the rose between her thighs, bringing her right hand to the furthest part of Carol’s jaw. Carol hesitates for the briefest of moments, eyes darting across their empty surroundings, and turns to meet Maria’s soft kiss.

 

“Bleh!” Monica giggles, from the backseat. 

 

Maria pulls back, staying twisted so her back is leaning as much into the door as it is her seat, and pinches Monica’s knee, pulling the stem free from between her legs and smelling the flower once more, pressing the soft petals directly to her nose.

 

Carol licks her lips.

 

When they are home at last, Carol waits until Monica has thrown the door open to rapidly come into Maria’s space, grabbing at her face with both hands, and kissing her firmly. She kisses against Maria’s mouth once, then twice, then again with a little bit of tongue while Maria smiles entirely too much, trying to tone down her grin enough to kiss her partner back properly. She grabs at Carol’s jacket, ardently at first, then realizes that they should not spend too much of their time making out in the car. They’ve got a whole room to do that in, one that is 100% guaranteed not to be in sight of their neighbors.

 

“Go,” Maria laughs, shaking at her grip on Carol as she pulls away from her.

 

Monica makes a show of glancing over her shoulder at the two of them, but with her hand over her eyes, so she cannot see anything at all. In her other hand she clutches her school bag, brought in from the car, which drags across the ground, and then over the stairs as she frees her eyes to head to her room.

 

“Did you not come home after picking her up?”

 

“No,” Carol says, “I stayed a little longer to ask some of the coaches about when she can start basketball if she’s still interested- in the summer- and then we got pizza, and then drove to the airport.”

 

Monica disappears into the top floor of their home and Maria turns, pulling Carol close to her in another tight hug. It’s pleasant, and warm, and Maria could just stay like this forever-

 

“Ahh!” Monica calls, “Auntie Carol!”

 

Carol grumbles into Maria’s neck.

 

“Monica.” Maria says, disapproving entirely of her daughter’s tone, “You want to repeat that thought?”

 

“She went in my room! She touched-”

 

“Don’t call her ‘she’!” Maria lets go, and Carol tries to continue her nuzzle.

 

“But...” Monica storms halfway down the stairs, “I needed that stuff for school! It’s gone.”

 

“It’s just in your drawer.” Carol mumbles.

 

Maria shakes her head, deferring to Carol for whatever has happened here.

 

“Whrgh!” Monica grumbles, “I don’t want anyone touching my stuff...”

 

“You should have cleaned your room, then.”

 

“I was gonna when I got home- I didn’t know we were gonna go straight to the airport!”

 

“Monica, stop it.” Carol snaps, “Your mom just got home, let’s not start this again.”

 

“Well, you don’t need to yell at me.” She huffs, stomping her feet a little against the stairs.

 

Maria has had her fair share of fights with Monica, as any parent will inevitably have with even the most well-behaved of children. She’s not too surprised at the outburst, but by the way Carol is bristling, she thinks she might be.

 

“I am  _ not _ yelling.” Carol says, tone stern but ever-quiet.

 

“You just did!” Monica insists.

 

Carol does not defend herself further, throwing her hands up in aggravation. 

 

She glances to Maria, and back. She is clearly angry, but Maria knows she is putting a good deal of effort into keeping her cool. Carol really does value calm, respectful interaction.

 

“I wanted it to look nice for when your mom got home.” Carol says, “Look, you’re starting a fight when she’s just walked in, knock it off. This is supposed to be a nice night.”

 

Monica’s lip wobbles. She is clearly very much also not used to fighting with Carol. Maria watches them both, hesitant to step in. It’s a right of passage, to argue like this. Carol can’t always be the good guy, like Monica thinks she is, and Carol has to accept that being a parent includes dealing with some routine outbursts.

 

Monica thinks Carol is the coolest person in the universe because she has not actually had to live with her these past few years, just built her up in her mind from her limited memories and stories she’s heard. What she needs to do is accept that Carol is a real person.

 

Then, hopefully, she’ll still think she is the coolest person in the universe. Maria does.

 

“You don’t have to get mad.” Monica says, the only one actually raising her voice, albeit just a little.

 

“I’m not-” Carol frowns, shoulders hunched, “I’m acting  _ very calm  _ Monica. And I was last night, too, but clearly  _ that  _ was a bad idea because you didn’t even listen to the one thing I asked you to do-”

 

“Kinda seems like you’re mad...”

 

“I am  _ not _ .”

 

“You are! You keep yelling at me.”

 

“She’s really not.” Maria says softly, frowning.

 

“I’m not!” Carol agrees, voice inching louder for the first time before immediately plummeting down to a quiet volume. “I’m not yelling, and I’m hardly acting mad. You’re acting like I’m- you don’t even  _ know _ what a temper looks like. You are so lucky-”

 

Woah.

 

Maria thinks it’s time for this right of passage to end.

 

She steps forward, turning to face Carol, and puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her mid-sentence. 

 

“Come on,” Maria says, “Monica, wait in your room. You can look for your missing stuff, but  _ keep it tidy. _ ” 

 

Carol’s hand stays limp as Maria clutches at it, but she allows herself to be pulled into the living room and sat on the couch easily.

 

“Okay, Carol, it’s alright.”

 

“She doesn’t even know-” Carol repeats.

 

“I know.”

 

“I wasn’t even yelling!”

 

“I know. I know.”

 

“She doesn’t know what a temper is. Ungrateful. You’re such a good parent, and I-”

 

“She doesn’t,” Maria agrees, “isn’t that so good?”

 

Carol frowns.

 

“She has no idea.” Maria says, eyes sympathetic, but mouth curved in a gentle smile. 

 

Carol doesn’t answer, stares blankly in a way Maria recognizes a little too well, and she hesitantly continues, hoping she doesn’t push Carol into the place she goes sometimes, where Maria cannot quite reach her.

 

Maria puts her hand gently on Carol’s leg, leaning into her as she speaks.

 

“Monica could do something that she knew would land her in  _ so  _ much trouble,” she says, “and there is not a person in her life- not me, not you, not my parents- that she would be afraid of for a second. Isn’t that wonderful?”

 

Maria feels a teardrop drip onto her wrist, quickly followed by Carol trying to wipe the wetness off her skin, embarrassed. Maria smiles, turning and kissing Carol’s wet cheek.

 

“I could tear into the room, mad as hell,” she says, softly, “and it wouldn’t even  _ occur _ to her to flinch away from me. She’d just start running her mouth.”

 

Carol huffs a little, a short laugh garbled by her wheezing lungs.

 

“She doesn’t even know what yelling is.” Carol says, quietly, bringing up the arm not trapped under Maria to wipe at her face.

 

“She doesn’t, silly kid.”

 

Maria’s father has always been very calm, kindly conscious of the impression a man of his size could make to a much smaller woman like her mother, and unfortunately doubly aware of the risk to his own safety as a Black man were he to lose his composure to anyone in public. 

 

Her mother is a little easier to ruffle, occasionally known to yell, or flick an ear, or smack you on the back of the head if you really got on her nerves, but while Maria was damn well gonna do what she said to not get in trouble, she could never imagine being  _ afraid  _ of the woman. Intrinsically, her mom is a kind and gentle person, who would never have hurt her kids.

 

Carol and her brothers were not so lucky.

 

Maria tried to not ask too much directly, but the bruises spoke for themselves.

 

She really only met Carol’s father a handful of times; her mother was determined that he came nowhere near them. The few photos Carol has from her childhood show a neat, stern man, but when Maria knew him, he looked a little more ragged, perpetually drunker and angrier following the death of his oldest son.

 

“I’m glad.” Carol whispers, at last, “You’ve done a really good job.”

 

“Not just me, baby. You’ve missed a bit, but you’re still her mom, and you were there for the formative years.” Maria says, “You have always been so gentle; I found it very endearing... I remember one time when Monica was a toddler, throwing a fit in the grocery store.You squatted next to her and nudged her until she got up. Most parents would just grab their kid and drag them to their feet, but you were so insistent on not manhandling her.” Maria smiles, rubbing Carol’s leg, “I felt so in love with you in the moment... I didn’t even care that my daughter was rolling around on the floor in public.”

 

Carol laughs, nuzzling a little closer.

 

“That girl is gonna have such high standards for how people should treat her, and how she’s going to treat her own kids.” Maria continues, pressing a kiss to Carol’s forehead.

 

“A good cycle.”

 

“Yes, a very good cycle.”

 

Carol falls into Maria’s lap, curling up with her head against the armrest. Maria gently strokes her hair, pulling it away from her face.

 

“You two don’t fight.”

 

Carol shakes her head.

 

“Well, ha ha. I have to deal with this, so do you.” Maria jokes, pinching Carol’s ear, “I’m tired of being the strict parent, it’s your turn.”

 

Carol rolls, facing up at her, socks sliding against the couch.

 

“I don’t like arguing with her.” Carol says, throat twitching as she swallows.

 

“Too bad, you’re her mom.” Maria says, “It’s going to happen. But you can decide how long it goes on.”

 

“Mm... I’ll go talk to her.”

 

“What set her off?”

 

“Uhm,” Carol hums, “I think she was mad I was gone, to be honest. I was kind of tired, too, when I got back... not as fun as she was hoping.”

 

“She’s got her expectations of you too high. She’ll adjust.”

 

“Yeah...”

 

“That’s not a bad thing.” Maria says.

 

“I like being cool, perfect aunt-mom...”

 

“I’m sure you do.”

 

“Okay,” Carol says, sitting up, “I’ll go... you should eat... Maria?”

 

“Mm..?”

 

“I appreciate it. What you said... I’m...” Carol purses her lips, “I really don’t want to be like they were.” 

 

“You’re not.” Maria says, “Precisely because you don’t want to be.”

 

Carol’s eyes shine a little. She blinks slowly, then leans in to give Maria one last kiss before standing and leaving the room.

 

\--

 

She’s not like them.

 

Carol walks slowly towards the stairs as she replays Maria’s words. She has always tried to follow the Rambeaus’ example, to be respectful, and communicative, and calm, even when her upbringing had taught her something different.

 

She has long-resolved to not be like her father- violent, and angry, but she knows it’s in there. 

 

Never, ever, not once has she wanted to hurt her family, but she’s picked her fair share of fights as a direct response to stress. Maria put her foot down long ago, chastising Carol for brawling at school, in the military, urging her to be better. She forgot the lesson when she was on Hala, sparring with Yon-Rogg often, but Maria was right. It never helped.

 

She’s worried the past few days that while she made a point to not act like her father, she didn’t safeguard enough against her mother’s tendencies. The urge to not talk about her feelings was always there, to run away and shut people out.

 

But Maria’s right, again. She has the solution. 

 

Although she cannot cannot change the way that she was raised, she  _ can  _ continue to make a conscious effort to not only treat her loved ones well, but herself, too. It was never what they set her up for, but fuck ‘em, she was gonna live a long and happy life, and ensure the same for her real family.

 

If she doesn’t want to shut people out, then she simply will not.

 

It doesn’t come naturally for her, so it’ll be difficult, but she knows that they will be patient as she does her best. Carol has been making the effort with Lynne, and with Maria, when she can. Now she just has to loop her little girl in.

 

“Hi Monica,” Carol says, knocking lightly, “can we talk? I promise to say sorry, but only if it is on the other side of this doorway.”

 

Monica opens the door, pouting up at her.

 

“Come on,” Carol says, nudging her way through, “lemme in.”

 

Monica turns, shutting the door behind her by sliding against it onto the floor.

 

“I’m sorry for touching your stuff,” Carol says, “I used to hate it when my mom came in my room, too.”

 

“That’s okay...” Monica pouts, then sighs, “I’m sorry for not cleaning it...”

 

Carol smiles at her, sitting cross-legged.

 

“I was really excited for your mom to get home,” Carol says, “I missed her a lot... and I missed you a lot. I hope it seemed that way.”

 

Monica shrugs.

 

“Sorry. You know, I had a whole plan for the both of you? I was kind of waiting to show you how much I missed you both once you were together, but I guess I should have let you know sooner.”

 

“...What was the plan?” Monica says, determined to pout a bit more, but looking intrigued.

 

“Well, I was gonna do it when we got home but... you know.” Carol says, “I think I was more annoyed that we were fighting because I really wanted everything to be perfect. Once we both feel a bit better, I think I can show you what I got you both.”

 

Monica sits, a frown still on her face.

 

“I think... I’ll feel better if you give me a hug,” she decides, clearly more eager to see what Carol’s brought from space than to continue to fight.

 

Carol inches over, grabbing Monica in a hug. As her slow hug back transforms into a genuine cling, Carol rolls onto her back, squeezing the girl tightly. Monica laughs.

 

“I missed you a  _ lot _ .” Carol says, rocking back and forth.

 

Monica, giggles again, kicking a little until Carol lets go.

 

“I missed you too, Auntie Carol.”

 

“You know,” Carol says, “I am a quiet person sometimes.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Okay... well when your mom asks you to do something, I usually agree. I just don’t say that much.” Carol says, “I think she seems more strict because she has to tell you to clean your room and do your chores. I’m usually saying it too, but I don’t think my telepathic instruction was getting through very well.”

 

Monica smiles, amused.

 

“Does it work on Mom?”

 

Carol nods, “She knows what I’m thinking before I do sometimes.”

 

Monica giggles.

 

“You need time to learn it. Pay attention, this means, ‘your mother’s right, I want that bed made like you’re a cadet’.” Carol says, and gives Monica a wide eyed, raised eyebrows look. She giggles.

 

“This means I love you very much,” Carol says, and gives Monica the same look.

 

It sets her off more, and Carol leans in to pinch at her sides.

 

“Okay, I think it’s time for fun gifts from space.” Carol announces, standing, “Well, don’t get your hopes up too much.”

 

“They’re super up.”

 

“Damn.”

 

Carol runs into her room to fetch the box waiting for them both, following Monica downstairs, and into the kitchen, where Maria is enjoying Monica’s leftovers from the night before.

 

“Present time.” Carol announces.

 

“The house looks very neat and tidy,” Maria greets, pulling her plate closer to her so Carol can set the box down.

 

“Open it,” Carol instructs, waving Monica over. 

 

Monica tears the paper off the wide, flat box, and pulls out a frame the size of a handheld blackboard from school. She pokes around at it, learning quickly from Carol’s communicator and the toy she’d received for Christmas that space things do more if you poke at them first.

 

A display appears, projecting a hologram- a table of contents.

 

“Is this a book??”

 

“Well,” Carol shrugs, “It’s kind of a lot of books.”

 

Maria shoves her food to the side, not gaining much room on the small table, and leans in to look closer. Carol moves her plate to the kitchen counter.

 

“Okay so I was thinking,” Carol says, swiping one of the lines before her until a new page appears, “Maria wants to go to school to learn engineering, and Monica is the smartest 11 year old I’ve ever met... so wouldn’t it be cool if they could get an even better education than smart people on earth?”

 

The first chapter, projected before them, is an introduction on aerospace engineering. Carol toggles the view and brings up a clean-energy microgrid, then again and displays the basics of holograms, then again, and reveals an explanation of jump-drives.

 

“What the hell...” Maria stands, excited, and takes over, swiping over the screen and skimming over all of the content available to her.

 

“I figure you can start here,” Carol says, “and when we’ve... got the means to get you a degree, you’ll knock it out really fast. Then you can learn even more.”

 

“We can build a spaceship!” Monica says, eagerly.

 

“Yeah, baby, just like you told Fury.”

 

“This is sooo coooool!”

 

“This  _ is  _ so cool.” Maria agrees, clearly a little overwhelmed.

 

“Monica,” Carol says, “you can start with actual school before you get into the stuff I got for your mom- focus on trig and physics before you try to build a spaceship, but I’ve got some stuff they’re teaching the Skrull kids on here, like circuits and basic engines.”

 

“Okay!” Monica says, “Mom’s been teaching me how to fix cars and planes, so I already know some stuff!”

 

“Perfect.”

 

Maria is still leaning over the display, the explanation of the curvature of different types of air-to-space wings projected before her. Each concept has a notation linking to a different, prerequisite file, so she can learn the basics.

 

She stands straight, hand over her mouth.

 

“Like it?” Carol asks, smiling broadly.

 

Maria turns to her, teary-eyed, and pulls Carol into a tight hug. Monica uses the opportunity to play with the device some more.

 

“I love it,” Maria whispers, “I love  _ you _ ... so much.” 

 

“I love you too, baby.” 

 

She knows how long Maria’s wanted to be an engineer. 

 

For many people, but especially for people like them, money and opportunity has been a major roadblock from all their ambitious aspirations. They’ve worked hard to achieve more than anyone expected them to, but it wasn’t easy, and there was never any guarantee they’d get to the next step.

 

Carol smiles, feeling relaxed as she watches her girls. She and Maria have always set their goals so far out of reach, and gotten there anyway. She hopes it’s a lesson Monica can learn, too.

 

Higher, Further, Faster, baby.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate everyone who comments so much, and my next kudo will be #800! :)
> 
> Next update will be fun, I hope! Unless what I'm planning gets delayed to a later chapter, which happens occasionally. 
> 
> Again, try to be mindful of mental health in this trying time! Feel free to let me know how you're doing, and I encourage you to read, and write, and draw, even if you don't think you're very good at it. If anyone needs some comic recs for Carol or other cool women she knows, I've been reading a ton of comics these past few months.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone......... thank you for all the LOVELY comments so far. Adore you all.
> 
> Enjoy :))
> 
> Chapter summary: ;)  
> Chapter warnings: implied/referenced child abuse  
> (Chapter rating: Only T, not that kind of winky face)

“Who’s that?”

 

Maria pulls her arms above her head, leaning back in a long stretch as she watches an unfamiliar girl complete yet another lap around the wide perimeter of the fields they’re practicing sprints beside. 

 

“Carol somethin’. She’s new,” her friend Tomika says, usually more up on the latest around school than Maria is, “just moved here from Boston. She sits near us in English.”

 

“Oh; yeah.”

 

Maria recognizes her. The new school year has been in session for a week and a half already, but she’s not got much of an impression of the girl from any of the classes they’re in together. She seems to take a lot of notes, and hasn’t made an effort to talk to anyone around her, keeping her head so quite literally down that Maria’s only gotten brief looks at her face. She’s white, and blonde, with sort of messy, unkempt hair and a tomboyish way of dressing. 

 

The girl’s hair is up now, pulled into an increasingly loose bun, and she’s sporting a colorful t-shirt tucked into a pair of what seem to be boy’s shorts.

 

Maria watches until she’s run out of view once more, and lines up again for a 200m sprint. 

 

They practice for a good while more, taking breaks now and then to drink water and talk about frivolous things. After-school practice doesn’t officially start until winter, but her team has been meeting since late summer to stay in shape. 

 

“Okay, that’s good for now,” Lisa, a girl most interested in the relay portion of running sports, says, “I gotta get home for dinner.”

 

“Yeah,” Tomika agrees, “I’m tired.”

 

Maria scans outside of the fence as she grabs her things, surprised as she spots the new girl coming around the bend once more. She drops her backpack onto the ground, taking off towards a later part of the fence, hoping to catch her before she’s disappeared around the building again.

 

The girl jumps back as Maria slams her hands playfully into the fence in front of her. She’s breathing hard, from the exercise, staring at Maria with clear puzzlement and wariness.

 

“Sorry,” Maria laughs, “I don’t bite.”

 

“I- uh.” She huffs, glancing to Maria’s friends across the field.

 

“I’m Maria,” Maria introduces, pressing a fist to the chain-link fence, too tall to reach over.

 

“Carol.” The girl says, staring at her fist. 

 

Maria doesn’t move it, and slowly, Carol returns the fist bump, smiling briefly in return. She takes her struggling hair tie out with one hand, shaking her head a little and running her fingers through her hair until it falls more naturally.

 

She’s actually really pretty, Maria decides.

 

“Were you in track at your old school?”

 

Carol shakes her head.

 

“How come?” Maria asks, “You’ve got great stamina.”

 

Carol shrugs. Woman of few words. 

 

If any other white girl she just met were giving her radio silence, she’d take the hint and let her make her own friends, but Maria’s seen how she’s interacted with anyone who’s tried to talk to her so far, and it was much of the same. She’s probably just quiet.

 

“You won’t bother us if you want to run inside the fence.” Maria offers, “We’re out here pretty often, if you ever want to join! We all stretch together before running, and take water breaks now and then.”

 

“...Thanks.” Carol says, smiling again, briefly, “I might.”

 

\--

 

Carol doesn’t join them for stretching or water breaks at first, but they get her inside the fence, instead of running along the street around and around the school. This new vantage point allows Maria to really appreciate just how long and consistently Carol is running. She’d be great at cross-country. Or marathons.

 

At some point, Carol catches her staring. Maria watches her smile, turning her head away sharply to hide the gesture.

 

Maria gets her to join them, eventually, telling her about how she got into track, and about her brother Dion, and that she’s lived here outside of New Orleans her whole life, as did her parents. Carol doesn’t share as much back, but when they land on the subject of academics, she quietly brags that she was top of her class her Freshman year at her last school and that when she grows up, she’s going to be an astronaut.

 

Funny kid.

 

“What about you?” Carol asks.

 

“Well, if we’re just sayin’ whatever we want,” Maria jokes, “I’m gonna be an engineer.”

 

“You fuckin’ bet you are.” Carol says. Maria almost believes it. 

 

When they get their first Algebra tests back, Maria waits until she sees Carol glance her way, holding up her 98 proudly. Carol smiles wryly back at her, lifting her perfect 100.

 

Oh, it’s on.

 

\--

 

Maria’s heart, thrumming from the distinct sound of tapping at her window, jumps right out of her chest at the  face peering back at her.

 

She’s calmed momentarily as she processes it’s only Carol, until it occurs to her that the stupid girl is going to fall and kill herself if she doesn’t get her inside soon.

 

“Jesus Christ,” she mumbles, dashing over to pry the window open.

 

“Hi,” Carol says meekly, pulling herself up and collapsing onto Maria’s floor.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” 

 

Carol shrugs.

 

“Fight with your dad?” Maria questions, scanning for any signs of injury. The side of her face is a little red, but nothing has visibly bruised yet, and Carol turns red for all sorts of reasons, so it’s hard to tell.

 

“Yeah.” She admits, leaning slowly against the wall.

 

“You... need anything?”

 

Carol shrugs, again.

 

“You eat?”

 

She nods.

 

“A’ight.”

 

Maria settles next to her, holding her hand and pulling it into her lap. Carol leans against her, head in Maria’s neck. They sit for a little while like this, and Maria tells Carol about whatever comes to mind, to distract her.

 

Eventually, they’re interrupted by a quiet knock at the door. Maria’s father pokes his head in, staring the two of them down seriously. 

 

“Lynne catches you coming through that window again, she’s gonna have your ass.”

 

“Yes sir.”

 

“Alright,” he rumbles gently, stepping inside. He sets down two glasses of juice at their feet, dropping snack bags from under his arm onto the ground, and hands Carol a few ice cubes in a towel from his pocket. She presses them to the redness by her eye.

 

“Anyone gonna notice if you stay the night?” He asks.

 

“Just my ma.” Carol says, “But she won’t tell.”

 

He nods, leaving the room. Carol sips her juice.

 

“Cool,” Maria says, smiling gently, “sleepover. I’ll lend you some pajamas.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“...I wish you could just live here.” Maria sighs, taking Carol’s hand once more.

 

“Me too.”

 

\--

 

Carol’s endless confidence that they’ll achieve her crazy dreams for the both of them can only go so far.

 

And yet.

 

“It’s a good plan,” Carol insists, physically grabbing the material of Maria’s trousers, sat across from her in the grass, “OK, so MIT isn’t gonna work out, ‘cause money is an issue,” she continues breezily, as if she wasn’t sobbing about it two days before, “but we don’t even  _ need _ to pay for college. The Air Force will pay for us.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“All the most famous astronauts started by flying planes for the Air Force, or the Navy anyway, not with Aerospace degrees from some fancy college,” Carol says, “and they need mechanics to work on planes, so you can learn to do that as a first step until you can become an engineer!”

 

“Are you kidding me- my mom would lose her mind.”

 

“It’s not like we would even go to war,” Carol says; Maria wonders if she’s thinking of her poor brother Stevie, drafted and killed in ‘Nam, “they don’t let women fly combat. We could be test pilots, like Chuck Yaeger! I went down to the recruitment office and talked to the guys there, they have some cool test pilot programs.”

 

“They take you seriously?”

 

“No, but fuck ‘em.”

 

“Uh huh.” Maria nods, “So you and me... a black girl and a-” ‘lesbian’, she thinks, but elects not to say; Carol still seems pretty skittish about her accidental confession, “-another girl are just gonna go become Air Force test pilots slash astronauts slash engineers?”

 

“Sure.”

 

“Carol.”

 

“We gotta pave the way,” Carol insists, “like Uhura, from Star Trek.”

 

“Oh boy.”

 

“What, you’d rather we take our great GPAs and go back to working at the library or the diner?”

 

“They’re never letting you work at that diner again.” Maria laughs. Not after she hit that creepy man who grabbed her ass... in front of his kids. She’s lucky she wasn’t arrested. “How about you get a job with me and we both save up to become mechanics. I bet you’d like it.”

 

“I’d like the ‘you’ part...”

 

“I’ll think about it,” Maria concedes, so Carol lets it go.

 

\--

 

“It’s gonna be alright,” Carol assures Maria, glancing over to her from the driver's seat on the way to base.

 

Maria pries her head off the glass.

 

“I know...”

 

“I’ll keep living with you as long as you like,” she promises, “even after you have it, if you want.”

 

“Yeah?” Maria smiles, stressed, but trying her best to not show it, “You’re gonna regret that; my mom was cranky pregnant.”

 

“I don’t mind cranky Maria,” Carol smiles, “it’ll be a fun challenge.”

 

“God, what am I gonna tell my mother...”

 

“We won’t visit her for a few months and then I’ll just say it’s mine.”

 

“Funny.”

 

“It’s a good cover, actually, more people need to think I’m dating men.” Carol says, “Maybe it’ll be such a good cover I can actually date a... uh, for once.”

 

Maria laughs, pressing her palms into her eyes.

 

“Let’s go tell my Catholic mother that I’m pregnant and you’re a lesbian. Maybe they’ll be so much to take in that they’ll cancel out.”

 

“I know it’s disappointing Maria got pregnant out of wedlock-”

 

“With some dude she don’t have the last name of.”

 

“With some dude- but don’t worry. I will never do that.”

 

“She’d probably accept that argument, I think she likes you more than me.”

 

“She just feels bad,” Carol says, but she’s still smiling, “and she doesn’t actually have to claim responsibility for any of my actions.”

 

“What is Dr Lawson gonna say...”

 

“She won’t care, that woman is  _ definitely  _ a lesbian.”

 

“Nooo, about the baby.” Maria says, laughing genuinely; Carol always knows how to cheer her up, even when she’s very stressed, “God, we’re not even officially on her team yet and I’m gonna have to tell her I won’t be able to work in a few months...”

 

“Well, we don’t have to tell her yet,” Carol says seriously, “but this is the time we thank the lord we’ll have a female C.O. when we do...”

 

“Amen...”

 

\--

 

Maria’s tired of being pregnant. She’s almost over the finish line, but she just can’t take it anymore.

 

She’s been home almost every day since they sent her home for work, leaving only to run errands out of boredom or go to doctors’ appointments. Carol gets home later than normal and leaves earlier, working overtime to fill the gaps left by Maria’s absence.

 

Maria’s been doing her best to get the groceries and keep the apartment clean so Carol doesn’t try to do any more than she has already, but she’s so goddamned exhausted.

 

She wakes up on the couch to the sound of the door closing, and when she opens her eyes, Carol is leaning over her, a smell in the air that makes her mouth water immediately.

 

“Hi beautiful,” she greets, lifting an arm, “I got Chinese food.”

 

“Oh,” Maria struggles to sit up, with Carol’s help, “I love you.”

 

Carol laughs, her eyes crinkling as her mouth spreads into a wide grin. Maria reaches out to touch her cheek before she really knows what she’s doing, thumb brushing over the freckle under Carol’s eye.

 

The grin stays glued on Carol’s face, and her eyes soften as they so often do when she gazes at Maria, some mix between love and hurt. Maria stares seriously at her, debating once again if these peculiar feelings she’s had as of late are genuine, or the sad, hormonal urges of a soon-to-be single mom.

 

She doesn’t want to play with Carol’s heart; she knows Carol likes women and she’d be fooling herself if she tried to pretend that her best friend didn’t have strong feelings for her. 

 

A part of her says it’s terrible of her play house with Carol like this when she can’t possibly commit, but another part insists that if she’s found someone who loves her so dearly, if she knows she has it in her to reciprocate genuinely, then why shouldn’t she take full advantage?

 

“Thanks.” Maria says at last, dropping her hand, ducking her head, and pulling away.

 

\---

 

Fuck her fears of career setback, her mother’s disapproval, people’s judgement, feelings of unpreparedness, months of discomfort, the pain of childbirth...

 

It was all worth it.

 

She stares at her beautiful baby Monica, held gently in Carol’s arms, and wonders what else might be worth the risk.

 

“You are so beautiful,” Carol coos, “oh... I love you so much... it’s crazy...”

 

Maria looks away, before she can start crying again.

 

“Hey babe can you hold her?” Carol asks, “I want to grab something for you.”

 

“Oh?” Maria asks, blinking, as Carol hands her the well-swaddled infant.

 

She briefly wonders if what Carol is grabbing are Maria’s parents, but she knows that their flight isn’t due to land for another couple of hours.

 

Instead, Carol re-enters rubbing something shiny and damp. 

 

“They wanted me to disinfect it first,” Carol explains.

 

She dangles a beautiful gold chain in front of her, emblazoned ‘Monica’ in a curly font. 

 

“Oh, Carol,” Maria reaches out to touch it; it’s good quality, “that’s so thoughtful... put it on me?”

 

“I- sure.” Carol comes around to the side where Monica isn’t, leaning over the guardrails of the hospital bed to gently fasten the necklace around Maria’s neck. Her fingers are a little cold from having just washed them for the millionth time. She smells strongly of her fruity shampoo, having gone back to their apartment to shower and set up her room for Maria’s parents to sleep in.

 

Carol pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, eyes fixed to Maria’s collarbone, where the necklace rests.

 

“Where are you going to sleep,” Maria asks softly, “when we go home?”

 

“Oh, uhm,” she shrugs, meeting Maria’s eyes, “on the couch, I guess?”

 

“Why don’t you sleep in my room?” Maria whispers, taking Carol’s hand. 

 

“I- I’d love to.” Carol replies, as Maria presses a gentle kiss to her fingers.

 

\--

 

Maria’s parents leave a little less than two weeks after they arrived, unable to be away from work or Maria’s younger brother for too long.

 

Maria and Carol settle in on the couch together, Monica thankfully still asleep from their drive home, in Maria’s room. 

 

She sets her food aside, leaning into Carol and pressing her face into the woman’s neck. Carol stiffens briefly before melting into the touch, placing her bowl on the side table with her free hand. 

 

Now that Maria’s parents have vacated, she supposes that Carol will go back to sleeping in her own bed. She’ll miss the opportunity to watch her sleep while she feeds Monica in the middle of the night, miss the feeling of a warm body beside her, the brief moments of waking lightly to the awareness that some part of Carol is comfortably pressed up against her.

 

Carol turns her head just slightly, a serious, questioning look in her eyes as Maria lifts her head, gently resting her fingers on Carol’s face. When she doesn’t make any move to pull away, Maria closes the gap, pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

 

Carol doesn’t kiss back right away, but her fingers curl around the fabric at Maria’s waist, eyes closed tight, brow furrowed.

 

Maria slowly brings her other hand into Carol’s hair, half-sliding into her lap and kissing her again, more firmly. Carol fully reciprocates, this time, arms holding Maria tightly against her. A sweet, yearning sound falls from Carol’s lips as Maria nuzzles against her face; encouraged, she continues to press soft kisses over her brow, on her cheeks, and once more on her mouth.

 

“What are you doing?” Carol asks, throat tight. It’s a painful, desperate question, and once again Maria fears that this feeling will pass and she will hurt her best friend beyond repair.

 

“I don’t know,” Maria says, squeezing Carol’s cheeks until she opens her beautiful hazel eyes, wet with tears, “but I’ve wanted to do it for months.”

 

Warm tears run over Maria’s hands and she tuts soothingly, stroking her thumbs beneath Carol’s eyes. Carol’s fingers tighten their hold in Maria’s shirt, pulling her close, initiating their next kiss.

 

\--

 

“Look at this beeaauutiful babyyy,” Carol coos, swinging around the corner with their dripping, giggling 2 and a half year old tightly wrapped in a pink, fluffy towel.

 

Maria sets aside the notebook in her hand, filled with Carol’s personal writing, a fun fictional space story that Maria respects being trusted enough to be allowed to read. Carol’s back-up to becoming an astronaut was always becoming a writer, and while she’s surprisingly on track for the former, Maria thinks she’d be real good at either career she chose to pursue.

 

Carol sets Monica on the floor, who waddles towards her mother, laughing hysterically at her inability to move her arms as hard as she tries. 

 

Maria grins, pressing a kiss to her little nose, and says, “Let’s get you jammied and into bed. Gotta get Auntie Carol her bath next.”

 

“Oh, forreal?” Carol says, saluting, “Yessir. I’ll tidy up and draw a hot bath.”

 

“Use bubbles?” Monica asks.

 

“Yes, I’ll give her bubbles,” Maria says.

 

“Okay,” Monica waddles over to Carol, who squats to accept the kiss, “use my bubbles.”

 

“Thanks, Lieutenant Trouble. Nighty night.”

 

Maria takes Monica into Carol’s old room, where Monica’s been sleeping for a while now, unfastening the towel Carol had tightly burritoed around her, listening fondly to her daughter’s toddler-babble as she picks fresh kitty pajamas from the drawers, kicking her bedroom door closed before the naked girl can make a break for it to grab her stuffed toy from the living room.

 

“Auntie Carol will bring it,” Maria says, tugging Monica closer and helping her into her pants, “tell me more about daycare.”

 

Monica does, getting distracted from her own story several times by other very important things she has to tell Maria. By the time she’s lifted into bed, she’s considerably tuckered.

 

Carol brings Monica’s stuffed tiger, having tidied as promised. She gives their daughter a kiss goodnight, waiting for Maria to do the same, and pulls her out of the room towards their hot bath.

 

\--

 

By the light of the full moon, spilling softly across their sheets, across Carol’s hair, and her arm, and the one foot sticking out from the edge of the covers, Maria picks her way back into their room, into bed. She slides behind Carol, having fulfilled her senseless motherly urge to make sure Monica was still sleeping well.

 

Carol mumbles a question after her wellbeing, lifting her head and cracking open one sleepy eye. She pulls her hair around so it’s out of Maria’s face, tucking it aside.

 

“I’m good baby; I just went to check on Monica.” Maria assures.

 

Carol relaxes into her embrace, sighing sweetly as Maria wriggles closer, eliminating any room between them, Carol’s ass pressed comfortably into her hips. Maria feels so loved, holding this woman in her arms, who melts against her, noticeably calmed by the contact.

 

\--

 

Her room is painted pitch black, the full moon they were supposed to see tonight covered by a blanket of stormclouds. Rain patters softly against the window, drowned out now and then by the menacing growl of thunder in the distance. Maria has always pictured it physically rolling across the clouds towards them, like a stampede of cattle.

 

Monica wriggles against her chest, goaded blindly into her mother’s room by the cacophony outside. If she’s honest, from the moment she woke to the storm, Maria had been hoping it would rouse her daughter and bring her here, under the covers.

 

She’s got to be a normal mother still, got to set a good example. She’s got to move on. She can’t drag Monica down with her.

 

Even if she wants to talk about Carol every single day. Even if she’d love to never pack up her things, to touch them all the time. Even if she desperately misses having solid warmth beside her in bed.

 

Monica’s young, she’d of course jump at the chance to sleep beside her mother each night if invited, but Maria can’t give in, can’t rob Monica of healthy boundaries and normal habits just to appease her own grief.

 

But tonight, it’s storming.

 

Tonight, she’s got an excuse.

 

\--

 

“I’m looking for Maria Rambeau?” Carol asks.

 

Carol.

 

\--

 

“What the-”

 

If not for the audible giggles of two very-more-likely culprits, Maria might have thought she’d been robbed, from the first look at her kitchen and hallway. 

 

Absolutely nothing is where it’s supposed to be- except for the piano, thank god- instead arranged in an absurd hodgepodge in the living room, designed to support every blanket they own. 

 

Their largest couch has been pulled across the front of the room, opposite from its normal position. The coffee table is settled backwards on one of its smaller sides, legs interlocked with stools from their kitchen, propped against the couch. Their armchair, piano bench, smaller tables, and other furniture from all over downstairs have been seized for this effort.

 

“Maria!” Carol calls, hidden inside the fort, “Come in! The entrance is by the-” she flicks a blanket, which flutters, “here.”

 

Maria sighs, crouching down and crawling inside, careful not to pull too hard on the ‘door’ of the fort and bring everything she owns crashing down on her daughter’s head.

 

“Hello.”

 

“Hi Mom!” Monica greets sweetly, a wide grin on her face, “How was the car?”

 

“Oh, easy fix.” Maria says, “They had a problem with their transmission, but nothing too serious... I see you two have been busy.”

 

“We built a fort!” Monica says.

 

“So I see.”

 

She’s tempted to ask  _ who _ is going to be responsible for washing all these blankets they’re getting dusty, but she’s trying to get Carol practice in being the less-fun parent, so she’ll wait and see when the idea occurs to her by herself.

 

“And what have you been doing in this fort?” Maria asks, eyeing the notebook clutched in Carol’s hand.

 

“Auntie Carol’s been reading me a story that she wrote about space!”

 

“It’s old,” Carol laughs, “I recognize my handwriting, but I don’t remember writing it.”

 

“I do,” Maria says, smiling fondly.

 

“It’s full of inaccuracies.” Carol says, “I guess I’ll have to write a better one in my free time, next time I’m away.”

 

Monica looks solemn at the thought of Carol leaving, as she has been doing on and off for the months she’s been committed to them again.

 

“Will you read that one to me, too?”

 

“Of course, baby.”

 

“Finish reading this one,” Maria commands, turning and laying on Carol’s leg, under the soft glow of lightbulbs filtered by a patchwork of sheets, “don’t stop on my account.”

 

“Of course not,” Carol says, cracking open the notebook and reading words Maria knows by heart.

 

\--

 

[PRESENT]

 

“Looking like it’s going to be real cloudy tonight....” Carol mumbles to herself, for the third time that day, “Why don’t you let me cook, Maria?”

 

“Now what in the hell is the correlation between those two statements?”

 

Carol turns, winking. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

 

“Oh boy.” Maria finishes drying her hands, having washed them in preparation to cook, and tosses the rag down on the counter, “Have at it, no complaints from me.”

 

“Have a snack,” Carol advises, looking out the window again, “it’ll be a bit.”

 

Maria eyes her partner suspiciously, but heads up to suggest Monica have a snack, on account of her stepmother acting ridiculous.

 

She settles into her room to read, thinking how nice it would be if Carol were to join her here in bed as long as she’s not going to cook yet. After the wishing doesn’t work, she tries a more forward approach, catching Carol in the hall and pressing up against her, sliding one knee between her legs, arms looped over her shoulders. 

 

Carol hums appreciatively, returning affection with soft hands under Maria’s shirt as she kisses her back... before patting her ass once and continuing out the front door.

 

“What-” Maria tosses her hands up, befuddled. She frowns at her own gesture, quite reminiscent of her mother, and goes back to her room to pout.

 

Carol returns, after a while, from the sound of the front door closing. Maria’s gotten into her book, so she leaves the woman to whatever she is plotting.

 

She’s just starting to think she  _ really _ should have taken the suggestion to get a snack when Carol finally pops her head in.

 

“Time to leave for dinner.”

 

“You’re not even cooking?” Maria asks, incredulously. 

 

“I did.”

 

“That bad...?”

 

“Nooo, it’s packed. Come on.”

 

“Are we going on a picnic?!!” Monica asks, bounding into the room through the narrow space between Carol and their bedroom door.

 

Maria follows Carol downstairs. She trusts her enough to feel excited for whatever this is going to be, but is unable to figure out why Carol has seemingly waited for the worst weather they’ve had in a week to pull them out for a picnic. Rain patters softly against the window as Carol unlocks the backdoor, and Maria levels a look at her.

 

“Maria, babe, can you grab dinner?” Carol asks, gesturing to the basket on the counter as she pops an umbrella open outside. 

 

“What’s that?”

 

Maria turns, scooping the basket up faster and dashing outside to see whatever her daughter is pointing at.

 

“My spaceship.”

 

“What!”

 

“Shh, Mon.” Carol whispers, glancing around, a devious grin on her face, “Let's go in.”

 

Monica doesn't need to be told twice. The second Carol opens the door, she clambers inside, buoyed by the encouragement to explore the small space.

 

Carol catches Maria's arm, leaning in under the umbrella, keeping them both outside. 

 

"I need your permission for something." Carol whispers, "We can have dinner on the ship here... or..." she points, upward, "there."

 

"Wh-" 

 

Maria looks up, towards the cloudy sky. 

 

"I needed the cover of night and clouds to get the ship down but also to get it into orbit." She continues, "The propulsion would be far too flashy, but I can lift this thing myself with minimal engine power coming from it."

 

Maria considers this, beneath the pouring rain. Monica pokes her head out. 

 

"You guys coming in?"

 

"Yes, I just needed to give your mother four kisses."

 

"Ew." Monica says disappearing back inside.

 

“Okay.” Maria nods, “If you think it’s safe, I trust you.”

 

She leans in, giving Carol four quick kisses, and climbs in the spaceship.

 

It’s pretty tiny, not considerably larger than the adapted jet they took into space to rescue the Skrulls. There’s two seats up front, with a complicated array of controls crammed into the flight deck, and a short cabin full of empty space in the back that’s honestly not much to look at.

 

“Is this it?” Monica asks, but pokes at panels on the wall in a way that implies she very much knows it isn’t.

 

“Not quite,” Carol says, “you’ve got the right idea though.”

 

She takes the food from Maria, swiping her hand over one section of bare wall until it segments itself into a series of panels. Carol sets the basket onto the floor and the panels shift around, stacking themselves into a perfectly sized box around it, the excess squares shifting back out of view.

 

“Cooool....” Monica says, delighted.

 

“I have more.”

 

She waves them away from the center of the cabin, towards the flight deck, slipping into the captain’s seat to flick a couple of switches. Maria and Monica watch as a nondescript, boring bed eases out of the wall. Maria’s hit with an unexpected pang of sadness at the small, lonely bed Carol’s been spending her nights away in. 

 

Another panel opens from the wall and Maria sees several notebooks, Carol’s guitar, and other little nick nacks stacked within before it and the bed disappear again from sight.

 

Next, four seats rise from the floor, locking into place with a heavy click. Carol comes out from the cockpit with clothes in hand, dressed fully in her flight suit. 

 

“Well hello, Captain Marvel.” Maria coos, leaning backwards into the wall.

 

“Captain Photon,” Carol salutes, “please assume your position. Lieutenant Trouble, buckle on up.”

 

“Huh?” Monica says, hopping in place, wild excitement in her eyes.

 

“I’m gonna take her up real slow,” Carol says, “because you’re not trained to handle g-forces, baby, but it shouldn’t take too long.”

 

“Into space?!”

 

“If your mom says it’s okay.”

 

“Hell yeah.” Maria calls, from the captain’s seat.

 

Monica cheers, jumping around excitedly. Carol grins wide, eyes glassy as she slides in next to Maria, pointing out different essential switches and controls.

 

“We’ll keep the engines on which- well, it’ll be like throwing the car in neutral. It’ll help me lift it.” Carol says, “Your job is mostly to monitor the flight for me and keep in touch on the comm. Should anything happen- it won’t- you can take over and land.”

 

Maria leans in, kissing Carol firmly.

 

“Yessir.”

 

Carol throws her brown leather jacket around Monica’s shoulders, kissing her on the cheek and helping her securely fasten herself into the seat diagonally behind Maria before departing out of the non-pressurized airlock in the back. Maria sets all the controls as instructed, preparing the cabin for takeoff. She goes through the checklist written in English on the wall, verifying each step with Carol before clearing them to leave.

 

“Hello, I’m Captain Rambeau,” she says, goofily into the comm, “I’ll be your First Officer this evening. Welcome aboard our nonstop service from RMO to RBT... that’s Rambeau to Orbit... Should be about 45 minutes to our destination, with no ETA yet for landing.

 

“Low visibility tonight with cloudy skies, some rain, and wind coming out of the east. Captain Danvers, my partner tonight, will be strugglin’ out there getting her ass wet in the storm for us, while we stay nice and dry in here. Please ensure your seats are in the upright position, your seatbelt is fastened, and all luggage is stowed for takeoff. Please enjoy your flight.”

 

Maria smiles at the delighted giggles from Monica in the back and Carol back on the comms.

 

“Love you,” Carol says. 

 

The next sound out of her mouth is a strained huff, before the ship shifts, lifting off the ground. The engines hum in response as they gain altitude and Maria tries not to think too hard about the fact that their main form of propulsion is Carol. 

 

“This is soooo cool!” Monica yells, from the back.

 

“It’s so fucking cool.” Maria chuckles, shaking her head.

 

Maria keeps the comm on the open channel between the cabin, herself, and Carol for now, so Monica can listen to her serious, clear-cut monitoring of their altitude, pressure, radar, speed. She jokes back and forth with Carol some amount, but demands a sterile flight deck for most of the journey, barring any conversation that isn’t between her and her co-pilot about their ascent. 

 

Eventually, the cabin shakes tellingly. Their speed increases temporarily until dropping off.

 

Again, Maria experiences the surreal and delightful feeling of zero gravity, turning to meet Monica’s eye. Her daughter’s mouth is agape, eyes fixed on her clothes, her shoelaces, the way her hair reacts when she shakes her head, then on her mother and the way her necklace and hair float in place.

 

Maria smiles widely. Her eyes water in response, unnaturally stinging sharply. She screws her eyes shut, opening them briefly as she turns to activate their centralized gravity controls. Two tears drip into her lap as Maria shakes her head, laughing at the bizarre sensations. Monica cackles behind her.

 

At the heavy knock in the back of the plane, Maria opens the airlock. Carol enters through the second set of doors, arms held out widely.

 

“How was that??”

 

“SO COOL!” Monica yells, bouncing in place. 

 

Carol invites them both to unbuckle, waving Monica towards the copilot’s seat. She squats between them, pointing out at the stars through the wide windshield.

 

“Hey Mon, you think you’re the first human kid in space?”

 

Monica yells again, beyond excited. Maria joins her, hollering at the endless stars before them as Carol chuckles and leans against her partner’s arm. 

 

“Woah,” Maria reaches out to hold Carol’s shoulder as the two seats in the flight deck slide backwards, giving them almost three times as much room between the controls, triggered by Carol’s hands under their seats. 

 

“Sorry,” Carol laughs, standing, turning to face Maria. She looks tempted to lean against the controls, but catches herself.

 

“I’ll grab dinner but, first...” Carol pulls her bottom lip into her mouth, breathing deeply through her nose, “I just wanted to share this with you two. I love you so much.”

 

“We love you too, baby.” Maria says, softly. 

 

“I wanted to share this other part of my life with you... isn’t it beautiful?” She gestures behind her as she speaks, but does not turn, “It’s all I wanted when I was a kid, but honestly... it pales in comparison to what I have down there.” Carol smiles, correcting, “Well you two are up here right now, but you know...”

 

“Carol...”

 

“I uh,” Carol fidgets, palming her belt, “I just wanted to thank you. For letting me back into your life... for letting me in in the first place... you’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be.”

 

Her messy hair hangs wildly around her head like a halo, framed by the stunning backdrop of outer space.

 

She drops to the floor, on one knee, facing Maria fully and revealing a ring between her fingers. 

 

Maria holds two hands over her mouth, laughing joyfully. Monica pulls her feet up onto the chair excitedly, hands balled into fists against her knee.

 

“I know we’re... kind of already...”

 

“Say it anyway!” Monica stage-whispers, curling into a tighter ball.

 

“I would love nothing more than to spend forever with you... Maria, darling.. will you marry me?”

 

“We  _ are  _ already-” Maria laughs, “but yes, of course.”

 

She throws her arms around Carol’s neck, kneeling with her on the floor, and kisses her firmly. 

 

Carol’s arms slide around her waist, carefully pulling her around through the gap between the seats and into the cabin. Maria doesn’t break the kiss, waiting until Carol has set her gently back on her feet to pull away, bringing two hands under her jaw.

 

“Heh heh,” Carol chuckles, thrilled, pulling the ring back up in-between them- a beautiful black band speckled with gold embedded into a clear center, the whole way around, so it seems to hang in place- “look it’s uhm, well this part’s vibranium, the strongest metal in the galaxy, and this is... they call it something that translates to stardust but it’s an element... not one of ours... isn't it pretty? I don’t know what the resin is, but it’s strong, reinforced by the vibranium.”

 

Maria leans in again, to kiss her quickly, holding out a shaky hand for Carol to place the ring on. Carol gently takes hold, steadying it, staring softly into her eyes as she slides the ring onto Maria’s finger.

 

“You need one too...” Monica says, standing on the copilot chair backwards, fingers wrapped over the back of the seat.

 

Carol pulls a second ring, studded with blue stardust, from her belt, winking at Monica.

 

Maria laughs, shaking her head, and pulls the ring from Carol’s finger, taking her left wrist to put it on her.

 

“No take-backs.” Carol says.

 

“Is that your vows?” Maria asks.

 

She kisses her again, against the backdrop of stars, all alone with the two most important people in her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked!!! I'm going to cross-post just this chapter to its own separate ao3 story soon, as it works as a standalone as well, and I'd like it there.
> 
> If you can take the time to let me know how you liked it, please do!! I was excited about this chapter. Thanks for reading!


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